


The First of Many

by IGotNothin



Series: What Won't You Do? [2]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - GTA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2014-12-06
Packaged: 2018-02-23 12:57:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2548310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IGotNothin/pseuds/IGotNothin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Fake AH Crew was born in alleyways, prison cells, and train stations. They didn't plan to stray from their roots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Bullet in the Barrel of Your Best Woman

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off of the works of icoffeecake.tumblr.com who designed this entire AU. I'm just trying to explore it a little more.
> 
> It's basically going to focus on the lives of the Fake AH Crew. It's going to be pretty non-linear. For the next few chapters, it's probably going to be everyone's first kills, but after that I have a few more prompts in the queue, so I might use those instead of the firsts.
> 
> If you want to contact me to send me prompts or anything, you can do it at 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy!

Her father was going to kill her. She had committed enough of a sin to run off with Geoff of all people, but now she was just insulting everything that he had ever taught her. He wasn’t going to forgive this. She was going to be dead, by the end of the day.

Geoff was on the ground, grappling with some mercenary from Germany. Someone that he had called Flynt Coal, when he had introduced her to his new profession. Apparently Flynt wanted to get revenge on Geoff for a robbery that the man had committed.

Jack didn’t know the entire story, but she knew enough to know that Geoff had probably deserved this. She should turn around, and leave him behind. She should head back home, and leave him to deal with the consequences of what he had done to himself. This was his fault, after all. No one else had forced him into that life.

She should to leave. She needed to. If she needed to save her own skin and head back home.

But sometimes what you need and what you want are two different things. And sometimes what you want takes priority.

So she stood, transfixed by the two criminals beating on each other. Geoff was grunting viciously, as he repeatedly brought his fist down onto Flynt’s face. The mercenary growled, and jabbed his knee into Geoff’s stomach. Geoff stumbled back, doubling over on himself to clutch at the injury. Flynt took that opportunity to lunge forward, and punch Geoff in the nose. With an audible crack, it snapped.

The fight had only lasted for a minute, and already Geoff was hurt. That didn’t bode well for the rest of their skirmish. 

Geoff screamed, and reached for his newly broken nose. A stream of blood was beginning to flow down his face, with enough force to drip to the floor.

He glanced at Jack for a second, and he looked prepared to call out for her. Instead, he just shook his head and set himself into a defensive position, and prepared for the next attack.

He knew that Jack wasn’t going to protect him. If he asked for her to, she would just run. Jack had never been one to join a fight. There was no point in trying to get her to. 

Jack bit her lip, smearing the lipstick that she had so carefully applied, earlier that day. She had done that before she had even known that Geoff was back. If she had known, she probably wouldn’t have bothered. Makeup had a habit of getting ruined when Geoff was involved, and Geoff was back. For good, this time.

She was still in shock at that realization. Geoff was back. He was back in Los Santos, and he had come to her first. And now she was watching him lose a fight in an alley.

“Where’s the fucking money, Ramsey?” Flynt asked. His voice was of a higher pitch than she had expected. He also didn’t sound at all winded from their fight. He was definitely in a better shape than Geoff.

“Up there with that stick up your ass.” The criminal responded, smugness bleeding out of his mouth. He gave Flynt a mocking smirk. He still hadn’t lost his habit of being a smartass, in the worst possible situations.

At least he hadn’t changed much since she had last seen him.

“You know what, Ramsey? I’m going to-” Whatever Flynt was about to say was cut off by the fist that was directed towards his face. Flynt blocked the blow without hesitation. He caught the fist in his hand, and bent it to the side. Geoff was forced to position himself awkwardly, as he kept pushing down. Flynt bared his teeth, and shoved down harder. “Do you want me to break it? Where the fuck is the money?”

“San Andreas,” Geoff answered, through clenched teeth. “In my old apartment.”

Flynt lessened his grip, slightly. He didn’t let go completely, but it was still more room than Geoff had had previously. They both looked relieved. Flynt because he was about to get his information. Geoff because his arm wasn’t going to snap in two.

“Where is that?” Flynt asked, softly. The pitch of his voice was starting to hurt Jack’s head. It was probably a negative quality for a mercenary, to have a voice that loud, but it was definitely working in his favor, now.

“You already fucking know!” Geoff exclaimed.

Flynt shot him an unimpressed look, and shoved Geoff’s arm towards the floor. It let out the same cold and echoing crack as Geoff’s nose had. It was now angled at a position that it definitely should never have been in. The injured man let out a bloodcurdling scream.

Flynt let go of the broken limb, and Geoff dropped on top of it. The movement only managed to injure it further, eliciting another scream from him. He grabbed at his own arm, and rolled over it to protect it from the mercenary.

Jack started towards him- towards the gun leaning against the dumpster- but the glare that Flynt send her froze her feet to the ground. Flynt gave her a small grin.

“Miss Patillo, I do not advise you to get involved. I’m sure that you have a very nice life back at home. Do you really want to give that up for someone like Ramsey?” Flynt said. 

He had a point. Her father might accept her problems, if she returned. He might get over it and cancel that marriage that he had planned. Besides, the man that she was sentenced to marry couldn’t be that bad, right? He wouldn’t pair her with someone that would be bad for her, would he? He might have been a dick, but he was still family. He wouldn’t let anyone hurt her.

Geoff hadn’t, either.

Flynt laughed at her hesitation. He shifted the collar of his trenchcoat, and dug his hand into the inside pocket. He pulled out a small pistol and pointed it at Geoff’s head. Geoff whined, and backed away from him. Flynt just readjusted his aim.

“It looks like Miss Patillo made the right choice, Ramsey. No one’s coming to help you, this time.” Flynt told him. Geoff flinched, and stumbled back, into the wall. His arm hung limply at his side, still as a board.

Jack almost expected someone to come and jump out of the shadows. They would have a gun and they would kill Flynt, and Geoff would get to live. She could take him to her father, and he would get Geoff the best medical attention that he could. Even if he wouldn’t do it, at least Geoff would be alive. A broken arm wasn’t a fatal injury. He might be hurt, but he would live. He would be fine. Flynt would be dead.

But it wasn’t the movies. No one jumped out of the shadows. No magic bullet flew into Flynt’s head. He just stood over Geoff, and let out a cruel laugh.

“Don’t steal from Shadles, Ramsey. Bad things happen when you do.” Flynt rested his finger on the trigger, and prepared to press down.

Jack moved without really thinking about it. The gun was right there, resting only a few feet from her. And then it was in her hands, and then the trigger was pressed, and then Flynt screamed, and then he let go of his pistol.

Flynt’s gun never fired. Jack’s did.

Jack dropped the gun, that was suddenly burning hot in her grip. It hit the ground with a loud clank, that sounded louder than the shot had. Her ears were throbbing, torn apart from the sound of the shooting and Flynt and Geoff’s screaming.

Blood flowed out of Flynt’s neck, where the bullet had torn into it. He clutched onto it, putting as much pressure as he could to protect himself.

Even Jack, as untrained in medicine as she was, could see that pressure wasn’t going to do anything, but kill him faster. Flynt was already a dead man walking. There was nothing she could do.

“I just-” She froze, stumbling over her own words. She had just shot someone. She had just tried to kill someone. She felt like throwing up- like crying- like laying down next to Flynt and dying with him.

Flynt toppled over, suddenly. His head cracked against the floor, letting out the same sickening noise that Geoff’s arm had. Blood rapidly began to pool under his body, streaming out as if his skull was the tip of a waterfall. She hadn’t realized that it moved that fast.

Jack’s mouth was dry. She tried to swallow, but it caught in her throat. She spat it back out, and it fell into the puddle of crimson by Flynt.

Geoff was watching her with an awed expression. He had stopped screaming- had stopped moving entirely- after she had shot Flynt. All of his attention seemed to have been diverted to her.

“Are you okay?” His teeth were still gritted and his voice was hoarse, but at least he seemed a little more stable. It was better than what she could manage.

“I- He’s-” She couldn’t even finish her sentence. God, she had just-

Past the smears of blood on his face, she could see a sympathetic expression on her friend’s face. He pushed himself on his feet, biting his bottom lip as he did so. His face contorted into a mix of pain and sympathy. The movement must have hurt a lot.

“Look, Jack. I’ll get you home, okay?” He still sounded hurt, and was panting a little too much to be safe. “We’ll go to my apartment and I can deal with this,” He glanced at his arm, which was still bent at an unnatural angle. God, Jack wanted to throw up, now. “And then we can talk. Okay?”

Jack nodded, slowly. She glanced back at the body on the floor.

“I’ll take care of him later, too. Besides, I think the cops will be happy to have him gone. We’ll be fine, Jack. I promise.”

\---

Geoff was rubbing circles on her back as she spat out the remainder of her lunch. The inside of the toilet was the most disgusting shade of green that Jack had seen in her life. Chunks floated around and it looked like- She shut her eyes, because the sight of it alone was making her gag.

Geoff’s hurt arm was strapped to his chest by an old sling that he had owned from his days in San Andreas. Apparently dislocated shoulders and broken arms weren’t exactly a rare occurrence for him. Based on the way that he was dealing with it, neither was murder.

Jack really did not want to think about that anymore. She could still see Flynt lying there, surrounded by blood, with bullet holes in his neck.

She tries to throw up again, but there’s nothing left in her.

“You’re okay. You’re okay.” Geoff repeated, softly. He had been repeating the mantra since he had gotten Jack into his apartment. He hadn’t hesitated, since. Not when he had strapped himself into the sling. Not when Jack had first run to the toilet.

Jack wanted to respond. Wanted to tell him that- no, she wasn’t. She was ever going to be again. She had just stolen another human beings life from him. Had just watched him bleed out and die in front of her.

All because Geoff had decided that San Andreas wasn’t enough. He had to have Los Santos too, didn’t he? He had to come back. Had to ruin Jack’s life, just a little bit more. It wasn’t enough that she had the problem, but she needed another one.

She was going to go to jail. She was going to be locked away for life.

It turned out that she did have more food in her stomach, because it managed to find its way out of her mouth.

“He’s dead.” She managed to say, through her heaves. Geoff’s hand froze, for a second, before it continued in its rhythmic stroking.

“I know, Jack. I know.” He whispered.

\---

Jack was laying on Geoff’s couch, staring at the wall. It was an off-white, that looked like it had once been pure. Years of misuse, by the generations of drug dealers that had passed through, had taken its toll on the building. She winced, as she remembered that Geoff was no different from them.

But then, neither was she, now.

Geoff was asleep on the carpet, with his broken arm laying flat on his chest. He looked more peaceful than she had seen him, since he had left Los Santos.

San Andreas must have been good for him, she supposed.

Hadn’t he said that he had managed to find a crew? People who fought with him, and dealt with the druggies, and shot up banks with him? He had talked about them for hours, before Flynt-

She shut her eyes tightly, and tried to force her mind onto another topic. Anything that wasn’t a black trenchcoat drenched red. Pale skin with blood-

Geoff’s nose was going to need to be fixed. She might actually have to take him to the hospital for help. It looked like it might need to be set, or it wouldn’t grow back right. If it didn’t that would end up being a problem. She didn’t want to deal with Geoff complaining about a crooked nose for the rest of her life. It would get annoying fast.

Maybe she could get her father to help. He may not have been a fan of Geoff, but if she explained what had happened- how he had tried to protect her- how he was more worthy than anyone her father knew, maybe he would change his mind. Maybe she wouldn’t have to deal with that damned arranged marriage. Maybe she wouldn’t have to worry about the problem. Maybe things could get better.

Who was she kidding? She was a rich girl clinging to a drug dealer. Her family was not going to like this at all.

Did that even matter, though? She was going to prison. The Los Santos police force may have been the most pathetic of any sect in America, but it was still accurate enough to trace this back to her. She had  
left behind the gun, after all. She was going to jail, and Geoff wasn’t going to care.

“You’ll be fine, Jack. I’ve got an old friend, who’ll help you out with this. Port’ll get rid of Flynt. He’s good at that kind of stuff.”

She tensed, and swung her eyes back to the prone figure on the floor. Geoff still had his eyes closed, but his breathing was slightly less steady, and his hands were shaking again. It was probably because of the pain from his shattered bone.

“Do you want an advil, or something?” She asked, cautiously. Geoff shook his head.

“Just a bottle of moonshine. Maybe some vodka would be good, right now.” So he was still a drunk. She wasn’t surprised. He had never been able to put down the bottle, before he had left. She couldn’t have imagined that he would actually have picked up any good habits while in San Andreas.

“Not coke, or whatever you do, now?” Jack could feel the bitterness in her tone. She was still slightly angry at Geoff for doing what he had. She had always hoped that he would be something more than a drug trafficker. She had been wrong in her hopes, apparently.

“I don’t use. Drugs are bad.” There was humor in the phrase. The same ironic humor that he had always been a fan of, before he left. She was glad that that hadn’t left.

“That why you’re selling it?” She didn’t believe him, of course. It was incredibly rare for dealers not to occasionally dabble in their products. While she had hoped that he wouldn’t have, she knew that that would be a lie.

“Dude’s gotta make money. The economy’s rough, Jack. You should know that more than I do.” It was true. Her father had just recently been forced to shut down an entire portion of the company. The fashion and modeling section had been completely demolished. He had been furious, when he had done that. Had stormed off for weeks, and had only returned once the stocks were looking better

“Drug dealing, Geoff?”

She shut her eyes, as she remembered that she had done something that was much worse than drug dealing, just a few hours before. She couldn’t really fault Geoff, when she had just murdered someone. That would be worse than hypocritical.

“It’s a profession. It works. I’m alive.”

Jack didn’t think that alive meant having two broken bones from a fight in an alley. She didn’t think that being covered in the blood of a mercenary, but that was just her opinion. Maybe she was wrong. She had been raised in a mansion, after all. What would she know about life for everyone else? She had been raised biased. There was no ignoring that, now. Not when he had just forced herself into the shoes of everyone else.

“Why’d you move back to Los Santos, then?” She asked.

“Things came up,” Geoff’s voice cracked. “I didn’t have anything left in San Andreas. I still had you here, and I figured that was good enough.”

Jack clenched her teeth and her fists. That was an insult to her, when she had just saved Geoff’s life.

“Is that what I am? ‘Good enough’?”

Geoff’s face fell, as the realized the extent of what he had said. He hadn’t mean it like that, but he could understand her confusion.

“That’s not what I meant. I-”

“It sounded like it, Geoff.” She felt like she was overreacting, but she felt like she should. She deserved to. She had just killed someone- given up his life and hers- for Geoff, and he had dismissed her so quickly.

“I meant that you were the one thing I had left. Everything was falling apart, and you were still there, and I couldn’t manage alone, anymore. You don’t get it, Jack. Everyone died, and you were still there. So I had to find you. I had to.” The cracks in his voice were more pronounced, now. He was being completely honest with her, for the first time in years.

She sighed, and slumped back into the couch. She had definitely been overreacting. She had messed things up, again.

“Sorry, I’m just a little out of it, right now.” Jack muttered. Geoff nodded, understandingly. 

“I know.” He said, simply. Jack wondered how many times he had been in her place. How many had he indirectly gotten killed? How many people had her friend personally killed, during his deals? She wasn’t alone, here. Geoff had been through this, too.

“When was-”

“First week I was in ‘Andreas. There was some guy who called himself Sarge. Really hated me. Tried to stab me in the back twice. He almost did it, but I managed to turn it around, that last time. I got a little respect from it. The others didn’t try to kill me, after that.”

That was even worse than the situation that Jack had been in! At least she had had a choice in whether to kill Flynt. Geoff was forced into it. He probably hadn’t even been able to think it over. That must have been terrible!

“I’m sorry.” Jack said. Geoff just shrugged it off.

“Sarge was a dick. I’m better off now, if you ask me,” His words were clipped, even more so than when he had told Jack that he was leaving. Killing Sarge must have hurt him more than he wanted to admit. 

“So was Flynt.”

“Don’t.” She didn’t need comfort, right now. She didn’t need to be reminded of what she had done.

“Gotcha, boss.”

That was what she had always liked about Geoff. He didn’t complain. Didn’t get angry at her orders. It was a nice change from life with her family.

“Where are you going to go after this, Geoff?” She asked.

“I’m staying here. I have a feeling you’re going to need me for a while,” That was a lie, but she didn’t mention it. She was just relieved that he wasn’t going to leave. “Besides, I think I can make a life here. I know how to run something, now. I’ve got big plans, Jack. This city is going to know the name Ramsey, by the time I’m done with it.”

“As long as they know me too, I’m not complaining.” Jack said. Geoff laughed, and draped his good arm over her shoulder. 

“Ramsey and Patillo. The greatest crew Los Santos has ever seen. We’re gonna kick some ass, Jack.”

She shouldn’t be laughing. She had just torn away a man’s existence. Had just walked away from his body, without shedding a tear. Had unloaded a clip into his neck. She shouldn’t be allowed to laugh. But dammit, she was! That was fine. She could grow from this. She could help make something greater out of this. If only for Geoff.

Even if her father was going to kill her, Geoff would stop him first. That’s how they worked. They would always defend each other. 

Jack couldn’t be more relieved about that.


	2. Below the Gutter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan wasn’t stupid. He fully understood what he had gotten into, and he understood that there was no getting out. Especially with the way Edgar’s attention had been on him, lately.
> 
> This was an inevitability, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is going to be Ryan's first kill. This takes place about six months after Jack's kill.  
> Don't forget to check out icoffeecake.tumblr.com 's stuff! Hope you guys enjoy!

He was fairly certain that this man was a civilian. Just another innocent who had accidentally fallen into Edgar’s web. He was going to die, because of that mistake.

He might have just been taken because of a bad deal, or a botched assassination, or he might have genuinely been an innocent that Edgar had plucked off of the street. No matter how he had gotten there, Ryan knew that he wasn’t going to leave. He had only known Edgar for two weeks, and he already knew that the man didn’t let witnesses go. He wasn’t that stupid.

Edgar might pretend to be an idiot, sometimes. He might act like a fool, in order to trick his enemies into underestimating him, but he wasn’t a fool. He was more intelligent than any of his men gave him credit for. He wasn’t going to be stupid enough to let a witness go.

Edgar walked into the room, with his two guards trailing by his side. They were all wearing masks, as all of Edgar’s troops seem to. Edgar’s was that stupid cow mask that he had never parted with. The guards were wearing a horse’s and a chicken’s, respectively.

“How’s Port feeling?” Edgar asked.

The man, Port apparently, started thrashing against the ropes that bound him to the chair. He screamed through his gag, obviously panicked by the sight of Ryan’s boss.

“He’s feeling great,” It felt wrong to force the monotonous tone into his voice. This conversation was going to lead to someone dying, and he had to pretend not to care at all. That was the worst part of Shadles’ gang. No one was allowed to care. “He was just telling me about it, actually. Right, buddy?”

Port leveled his angry gave onto Ryan, and screamed into his gag, again. Ryan forced a laugh.

“Hey, Gnome? What do you think we should do with him? What’s to say we shouldn’t have some fun?” Edgar asked. Ryan didn’t think that anything that Edgar had in mind would be fun. The man seemed to think that torture was a game. Ryan definitely did not want to see what he would do to this man.

It was his job to humor Edgar, though, so he gave the man a slight nod. Just enough for him to notice, and just enough for Port not to.

“Go for it, boss.”

Despite the mask shielding Edgar’s face, Ryan could practically feel the smirk radiating off of the man’s face. Ryan ducked his head away, training his eyes anywhere, but at Edgar. Knowing him, the psychopath would probably take it as a threat if he looked at him.

“You hear that? Let’s go for it!” The childish excitement in Edgar’s voice sent a chill down Ryan’s spine. If there was anything that terrified him more than Edgar, he hadn’t found it yet. “Lieutenant, would you mind?”

One of the guards, the one wearing the horse mask, stepped forward. He swiftly removed his striped blue jacket, and tossed it towards Edgar. The criminal caught it with ease.

“So, Gnomey,” Edgar drawled, stepping closer to Ryan. It took all of his will not to take a step back. “Word on the street is that you haven’t done anyone in, yet?”

Nausea crept down Ryan’s throat at the very thought of it. He had joined on the basis of being just another inferior guard, destined to be shot in the head at the simplest of mistakes. That was how life went for criminals. That was how life had went for Ryan, after he had lost his job, and found himself in Shadles’ care. He had quickly come to terms with that fact.

But he wasn’t supposed to kill anyone. That wasn’t part of his job description. He was just supposed to stand, and hold a gun for a few hours a day. There was nothing in his contract that told him that he would have to kill anyone.

He would know. He had read it eight times.

He couldn’t do anything about it, though. If Edgar wanted him to kill Port, he was going to have to do it. Despite his unwillingness to kill someone, he still valued his own life over this man’s. It was easy to realize that it was going to be a choice between one of the other.

Ryan shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. His mouth was too dry to even attempt it. Showing weakness in Shadles’ crew never ended well, and he valued himself too much to let himself die like that.

Ryan wasn’t stupid. He fully understood what he had gotten into, and he understood that there was no getting out. Especially with the way Edgar’s attention had been on him, lately.

This was an inevitability, after all.

“How do you say we change that?” The childish tone wasn’t scary anymore. It was absolutely horrifying.

Ryan considered mentioning his contract. He considered calling Shadles, and having the man inform Edgar of exactly what he had signed on to avoid.

Instead, he just took the jacket that Edgar offered him, like a good little criminal. He swallowed, hard, before he unwrapped the the rolled up coat that surrounded whatever Edgar wanted him to have. He did it slowly, trying to hold back the impending death for as long as possible.

Ryan had always been a procrastinator. That didn’t change just because he had joined a gang. Surprisingly, it had actually gotten worse.

He finally shook the thick leather coat free. Sitting where the pocket gave way to ordinary material was a large dull knife. It looked shockingly ordinary, for a blade that a criminal carried around to torture cellars. There was no blood stains- no scratches on the blade. Despite the obvious signs of its use (the dullness, and the rough and worn feeling of the hilt), it looked like a knife that someone could use to cut a steak.

The thought gave way to a simple idea, in Ryan’s mind. He could cut a steak, right then. He could cut off Edgar’s cow mask, and turn the man into a hamburger. He wouldn’t have to kill Port- wouldn’t even have to kill Edgar, necessarily. Even if he wanted to, he could kill one of the most quintessential parts of Shadles’ crew.

He shook his head, slightly. It was more of a message to himself than to anyone else. He couldn’t do that. Not when Shadles had picked him up off of the street, and given him something. A chance at a future. An opportunity to leave the streets, to get back on his feet. Had given him an apartment, and a paycheck. Ryan couldn’t just destroy a man who had done something like that for him. Even if it hadn’t been out of the kindness of his heart.

Besides, Edgar wasn’t important enough to demolish a criminal empire, was he? Ryan definitely wasn’t.

Ryan dropped the coat, which the horse quickly ran to pick up. Apparently the coat was more important to Edgar than Port was. Of course it was.

“I’d prefer you do it slowly, but quickly works, too,” Edgar informed him, as Ryan crept towards their captive. “We don’t really need him for anything, so have some fun with it.”

The instruction was clear. Kill him slowly, or Edgar was not going to be happy.

Ryan did his best to hide the trembling of his arm behind his suit. It was fitted loosely to him, so that Ryan could run as quickly as possible if there was an attack, making it was fairly simple to hide the shaking. It was much harder to hide his inability to speak. Luckily, he wasn’t going to have to worry about that.

The ringing of Edgar’s phone was the most calming noise that Ryan had ever experienced. The man groaned, while Ryan tried to calm his frantically beating heart.

“Give me a sec, will you?” Edgar asked, his tone betraying his intended nonchalant. The childishness had faded from his voice, as he slipped into his annoyance. He tapped the call button on his phone, and walked out of the room, saying a “Hello?” as he left.

Ryan felt like dropping the knife. He wanted to let it clatter to the floor, along with his fear. Edgar never stayed after he received a call. Ryan wasn’t going to need to kill Port for a few hours, yet. He could find a way out of this, by then. He wasn’t going to have to kill anyone. He didn’t need the knife, anymore.

The chicken poked his head out of the door, to watch his leader argue with whoever was on the line. He quickly stepped to the side, as Edgar poked his head back in.

“Lieutenant, you mind doing me a favor?” He asked, pressing his phone against his chest. 

“Anything, sir.” The horse responded, excitedly. Ryan could already tell that he was going to get on his nerves, by the end of this.

“Oversee the Gnome for a bit. Make sure he gets this shit done. Some bastard decided to steal from us, so I got to deal with that.” Without waiting for a response, Edgar stalked out of the room. The chicken followed him.

The horse watched as Edgar left, and let out a light sigh. Ryan would never know if it was of relief or exasperation. Knowing Shadles’ crew, it was probably the latter.

“You can do it quick, if you want. I kind of feel a little bit bad for you.” The brutal honesty in the man’s whisper was awkward. Ryan had never known one of Edgar’s guards to feel bad for someone. 

He didn’t exactly trust this “Lieutenant”. In his experience, anyone given a respectful codename in Shadles’ crew wasn’t someone that you wanted to familiarize yourself with. It either meant that they had been with them since the beginning, or they were too dangerous to be around. Either way, they were never good people.

“Fuck off.” Ryan responded. He kept the insult fast enough, that he couldn’t stumble over it. His throat constricted from that one phrase, enough. Any more and his voice probably would have cracked. He definitely didn’t want to show Lieutenant any form of weakness, like that.

“We shouldn’t insult each other. You and I are very similar, Gnome,” Lieutenant told him. “Shadles isn’t exactly the kindest of leaders.”

No, no, no, no, no. Ryan was not going to do this. If this was the horse’s attempt to start a mutiny, or whatever, he wasn’t doing it. He had just picked himself off of the street. He wasn’t planning to force himself back onto it. Even so, he was more likely to find a bullet in his brain, before a victory.

“Not interested.” He didn’t care about this man. He didn’t care how revolutionary he was feeling. Ryan was not going to get involved.

“I don’t mean like that. I mean that I can help you. Shadles isn’t going to. I can show you how to make it, here.” The man offered.

Ryan didn’t know what compelled him to do that. He didn’t particularly care, either. He had spent the past four months in this business, and already he knew not to trust anyone else in it. They were all just criminals looking for a way to one up each other. The worst thing that you could do was get involved with that.

“Not interested.” Ryan repeated. He wasn’t planning to owe anyone anything. Debt usually ended badly. He wasn’t going to be like Port. Port had probably owed Edgar something, like most of the people in Los Santos did. Ryan wasn’t going to end up like him. He wasn’t that stupid. He had learned on his first day not to go into anyone’s debt. Especially since he was already in Shadles’.

“Are you sure? I can help you out here.”

Port was still screaming, practically hyperventilating into his gag. It was annoying and distracting and Ryan just wanted him to shut up.

“Positive.”

Lieutenant shrugged, and gestured towards Port. His meaning was obvious. If you don’t want my help, you can do the dirty work.

All of a sudden, Ryan’s heart was racing again. Beating at a thousand miles a minute against his chest. There was no warning to it. No massive flood of adrenaline. Just the furious pumping.

He didn’t want to do this. He really, really didn’t want to do this.

Port stopped screaming, as Ryan lifted the knife, again. He just eyed the blade with wide eyes, in absolute silence. Occasionally, his feet would scrape the floor, in a pathetic attempt to back away, but the man was too short to even reach it.

Ryan leveled the knife against the man’s throat, and suddenly he stilled. His feet stopped kicking, and his wrists stopped straining against the ropes. His eyes just locked onto Ryan’s, and then down to the blade.

“There are cameras,” Lieutenant whispered. “Get it over with, or Edgar’s going to be angry.”

It was with a rough twitch of Ryan’s arm that a man’s life ended.

It was surprisingly how easy the knife, that he had assumed was dull, had slid into Port’s neck. It had torn the skin as if it was made of butter. Had slipped past the wall of blood, now pouring out of his neck, and had just sawed through into the bone.

Ryan dropped his hold on the blade then, and took a step back. It stayed there, lodged into the man’s throat, where he had left it.

Port survived, for a few terrible seconds. He let out a horrible gurgling, that should have remained in Ryan’s mind forever (it didn’t. As much as he hated to think about it, this would not be a memorable moment in his life). He wanted to throw up from the sound of it, alone.

“Are you alright? You’re looking a little pale.” Lieutenant made no effort to step forward, despite his concern. Ryan was appreciative of that.

He wanted nothing to do with any of them, right now. He just wanted to go home, to his shitty little alleyway, and burn down everything that Shadles had handed him. He could give up the home. He could give up the paycheck. He’d be homeless again, and he wouldn’t care. He just didn’t want to ever be forced to do that again.

“What’s your name?” Lieutenant asked, trying to make up for the dying conversation.

Ryan didn’t want to answer him. He just wanted to walk away, right now. If he could have, he would have walked into Shadles’ office, and told the man that he was done. He was out. Fuck off, he’s gone.

But Ryan valued his life more than he valued Port, or any other corpse in the world. He was not going to lose it that easily.

It was that tiny, minuscule decision, that forced him to swallow his panic. He held his breath, in a desperate attempt to still his rapidly beating heart. His hand suddenly froze at his side.  
He was fine. He was going to be fine. Everything that he had done was perfectly reasonable.

“Ryan.” He left out his last name, still wary of the man. Despite his position in life, his parents were supposed to be protected. He wasn’t going to give out his last name, so that they could be tracked down. He wanted them safe, even if he wasn’t. He hadn’t even told Shadles his name, and he wasn’t planning to.

“I’m Andersmith. John Elizabeth Andersmith.” Lieutenant told him. Ryan didn’t laugh, despite the fact that he would have expected himself to. It was probably a stage name, just like his own was.

Did a middle name count as a stage name?

Andersmith held out his hand, intending for Ryan to shake it. Ryan just stared at it, refusing to give the man even that small offering of peace.

“I heard how you got here. I arrived on similar terms, Ryan,” Hearing his name again felt stale. It wasn’t comforting. It was just uncomfortable for both of them, and he wished that he hadn’t told Andersmith his real name. If he had to hear it again, after four months of just being ‘Gnome’, he wished that it had been by someone- anyone else. “From what I have heard, Shadles often picks us off of the streets.”

Who had been sharing his story with the world? He had understood the fact that Shadles had told Edgar. The man was his superior; he was supposed to know everything about him. That was how it worked. Who had told Andersmith what had happened?

“How long have you been here?” He didn’t particularly care, but Andersmith was offering a chance. He could make sure that this didn’t have to happen, again. Andersmith could do anything like this for him, right?

“Five years, or so. I think I was 14 when I was recruited.” Andersmith responded. Unlike most of the guards, he had no pride in his voice, when he talked about his recruitment. The others were always smug- always quick to talk about how quickly they had risen through the ranks. Andersmith seemed to be apathetic about it.

Ryan was just happy that, apparently, Andersmith was only 19 years old. It meant that, despite his status as the newest member, he wasn’t the youngest. At 21, he was probably older than most recruits, which was a surprising fact. He had always imagined gangs to be filled with middle aged men in lamborghinis. Instead, it was mostly just teenagers who had been dying on the street, when Shadles offered them a place.

Ryan didn’t know if he appreciated that, or if he hated it.

“We recruit that young?” He hated that he said we. He shouldn’t have. He should have distanced himself, further. Should have said ‘they’.

“Yes. Child labor laws don’t seem to work, when you work under the law.” There was a hint of humor in the man’s voice. It didn’t suit the situation. Didn’t suit the corpse in the chair.

“Why? What good can you do as a 14 year old?”

“I started off as a smuggler for about three years. Then, Edgar recruited me as a guard. Here I am, now.”

The prospect of being there for five years was terrifying to Ryan. He didn’t want to be there for the rest of his life, and in this business five years was probably going to be the rest of his life. Andersmith was lucky to have lasted as long as he did

“Why’d you join?”

“Same reason as you did. I was sick of being homeless, and Shadles offered to change that.” Andersmith explained. 

Ryan shouldn’t care. He should snort, and laugh at the stupidity of his decision. Just like he laughed about his own mistake, every night. He should laugh about how stupid Andersmith had been before. How stupid he was now. That’s what most people would do, here.

Instead, Ryan just felt bad for a kid that had been forced into that kind of situation.

“Why were you homeless?” There was an edge of empathy in his voice, and he hated it. Andersmith had seen him at his weakest, anyway. Had seen him tremble at the idea of a kill. Why was he making it worse?

No, no, no, no, no. He shouldn’t think about that. Shouldn’t smell the blood in the air. Shouldn’t seen the red leaking onto the floor. He needed to distract himself, again. Thankfully, Andersmith offered that.

“I ran away. Most of us did.” There was a hint of a lie, in his tone.

Ryan didn’t mention that “I ran away” was usually code for something much worse, to the point where the cops had a policy to call for backup whenever they heard that phrase. This was Los Santos. Most citizens didn’t survive past 30. He couldn’t see Andersmith’s parents lasting any longer than that. They had probably gotten into the exact same life that he had gotten into.

Look how well that had worked out.

“How about you?” Andersmith asked. Ryan froze, surprised by the sudden question.

“I lost my job. Then my apartment.”

“What were you?”

Could he answer with the truth? Would answering “I was a professional male model” lead to respect within a gang? It would probably end with him being shot in the back, while every criminal there laughed at him. That’s how it worked, right?

“I was an IT guy.” The same lie that he told his parents, when he had first joined Shadles’ crew. He was fine. Really. He was just an IT guy. Definitely not a guard at the most influential gang in Los Santos’s history. Definitely not.

“How was that?”

“I was bad at it.”

“That sounds terrible.”

It had been. Dressing as a gnome had been the most pathetic moment in Ryan’s life. When Shadles had found out about it, he had laughed and declared that Ryan’s codename. It was pathetic.

“Yeah.”

They slipped into an uncomfortable silence, thus ending the most extensive conversation that Ryan had had since he had joined the crew. It wasn’t a friendly conversation, not by any extent, but it was more than Ryan had planned to have, anyway.

Andersmith glanced at the door, and then back at Ryan. He cleared his throat.

“You know Edgar is planning to give you a mask, right? This was supposed to be your initiation. I believe you passed it.”

And all illusions of friendship faded away, with that statement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time will probably be Geoff's kill. I have another chapter that's also in the bank, but it's still needs a lot of work, so it'll probably be posted once the kill arcs are done.  
> Anyway, hope you guys liked it!


	3. From Gutter to Sewer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How to join a gang, and not die in the process. Advice from Ryan Haywood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brace yourselves. This is going to be a long one. 
> 
> This one takes place 13 years after the last chapter did. The Lads are all already part of the Fake AH, but none of them show up in this one. They also don’t live near the rest of the crew, yet. Ryan is still a part of Shadles’ crew, and is the only one not in Fake AH out of the main six.

His breathing was as light as it could possibly be. Even through the mask, it was practically impossible to decipher amongst the various noises in the house. Like the creaking, as one of the rats ran along a broken floorboard. The dull roar of the refrigerator, that could really use a tightening. The handle was off center, and it was really starting to get on his nerves. After hours of staring blankly into the room, it was the little things that had become annoying to him. That handle was definitely getting annoying.

The woman by the computer seemed to be too invested in whatever she was doing to even look in his direction. Even if she had, he was a trained mercenary. The shadows should be able to hide him, without him even trying. He had been doing this for years. There was going to be no problem.

He felt a little nervous about this job, honestly. He was fine with the killing part of it. That was something that he was more than familiar with. Ramsey may be a star player, but in the end, he would just be another hit. The Mad King had killed bigger and stronger men than Ramsey, and he was going to kill more after.

It was the woman that was getting on his nerves. He didn’t want to have to have collateral damage from this mission. No one back at base would give a shit, but he always hated that. He might be a murderer, but he didn’t do it for fun. He had never been cold blooded with the killings. He had at least maintained that little bit of integrity. He killed when it was necessary, and only then.

He really didn’t want to kill this woman. What was her name? Pazilla? Patitel? Patillo? It didn’t even matter. If Pazilla got in the way, he was going to have to get rid of her.

He really hated killing people that he wasn’t hired to kill. It always served to remind him of exactly what he had gotten himself into.

Mentally, he shook his head, to shake that thought away. He couldn’t let himself fall into that trap. That type of thinking would only hurt him, in the long run. He needed to be relentless if he wanted to succeed. And he had to succeed. That was what the gang expected of him. He had learned years ago not to disappoint them. Especially now that his name actually meant something.

It had taken years to make the name “Mad King” turn into one that was familiar to all of Los Santos. That had led to countless criminals falling at Shadles’ feet, practically begging for the mercenary that had never had a failed kill to take their job. The man had never once been caught. The man whose face was practically a myth.

At times, it was an honor. At other times, he was standing in Geoff Ramsey’s apartment, watching Patitlo file her taxes. 

And really, why did Ramsey hire someone to pay his taxes, anyway? They were criminals. Legality wasn’t exactly important to them.

He really couldn’t wait until Ramsey showed up! He could put a bullet in the man’s head, and he could be back at base with enough time to talk to Andersmith. They would pretend that they weren’t both murderers, and that they weren’t covered in someone elses blood. Andersmith would toss him a diet coke, and they would watch the newest episode of Game of Thrones. It would be just another day in Shadles’ crew.

It was an interesting friendship, and one that he valued. It would be fun, just like it always was, when he got back to base.

He tried to forget about the fact that he was taking a relationship like that from Pathilio. Tried to ignore every instinct that he had screaming at him to just walk away. The instincts that screamed at him not take out his gun and shoot Ramsey, as soon as the door opened.

He shut down those feelings the second that they became apparent. He had spent years in this business. Losing all emotions had become commonplace in his life. Especially when it tried to force him to be merciful.

If there was one thing that hadn’t changed, since he had joined Shadles’ crew, it was the fact that he would only stay for as long as he was worth the cost of living. The second that he overstayed that welcome, he was going to wake up in Hell. And he had always valued himself over others. He wasn’t going to risk his life for Ramsey. Not now.

Tapillo sighed, suddenly, and tapped one of the buttons on the side of the computer. The screen went dark.

He had no idea why she would do that. She had been typing in her numbers a moment before. Anyone watching could have seen that she wasn’t done. She had been too drawn into it to be completely finished, and even then she still looked hesitant to move away from the computer. So why had she stopped?

“So, Mr. Creepy Skull Mask,” Tapillow said, suddenly. She directed her gaze straight towards him. He froze, and tightened his grip on his gun. “Can I ask why you’re hiding in the corner?”

He hesitated, for the first time in years. What the hell? He had honestly no idea what to do. No one had ever seen him sneak up on them. No one had ever caught him while he was hiding. Should he shoot her? Should he just slip back out of the window, and report it as a failure? No, Edgar would kill him for that. Should he pretend that he hadn’t heard her?

“No?” He wanted to kick himself for how utterly confused he sounded. Confusion meant that he was unsure. Unsure meant that he couldn’t make his own decisions. Not making his decisions meant that he was weak. He couldn’t act weak to one of Ramsey’s crew. He couldn’t even act like that in front of his own crew. What was he doing?

“Good. I thought I was going to have to deal with you. I’m glad that I was mistaken. Can I interest you in a drink?” She asked, with a genuine smile.

He wanted to turn her down. To tell her that, no, he doesn’t want a drink. He hasn’t touched alcohol since he was 20 and stupid. That Shadles had banned him from touching anything that could hinder his ‘talents’.

He had found the policy funny at the time. He was in a gang, and it would end with him being in the healthiest state he had be since he was 17. When he had originally joined, he couldn’t have imagined that a gang wouldn’t allow him to drink. It was a gang of criminals. He had assumed that anything that was even slightly illegal would be fair game.

Then, he had stabbed a man in the throat, and anything funny about being in a gang had slipped away.

But there was something about Titpillo. Something that made him want to forget about that policy. For the first time in years, he wanted to tip a bottle down his throat, and forget about everything, until the next morning.

“Sure.” He said it hesitantly. He still felt unsure about this decision, but the grin on her face was enough to calm him down. He tipped the gun into his coat pocket, and stepped out of the shadow.

He felt vulnerable outside of the darkness. He had nothing, but his mask, to hide him. His body language would be fair game to read. He reminded himself to school that. He had to make sure that he wouldn’t let her see anything. Any weakness was a potentially devastating one, and he had to be careful.

That was the first thing that Edgar had taught him. Anyone in their industry wanted to see them fall, and they would use anything to achieve that. People that he trusted would stab him in the back, if he showed the slightest sign of a weakness. People that he didn’t trust would stab him, anyway. He needed to be cautious around anyone.

The first thing that he had learned on his own was that Edgar wasn’t above that rule, either.

So, even as he followed Palitio into her kitchen, he didn’t make any more movements than were strictly necessary. He kept his eyes, though shadowed by his mask, locked onto her at all times. If she was to make any sudden movements, he would be ready. He already had a knife pressed against his palm. He could strike at any moment.

“We’ve got Corrs Light, and nothing else, so you’re going to have to deal with it,” She sounded disappointed, as she removed the beers from her mini fridge. He noticed that she didn’t even try to wait for him to respond. She reached back to hand it to him, and looked genuinely surprised when he flinched away from it. “Calm down. I’m not going to hurt you. If I wanted to, you’d already be dead.”

He highly doubted that. The knife in his hand suggested otherwise.  
He took the bottle, and popped off the cap without a problem. He set the tip of it to his face, to the air holes careful stabbed into his mask. The smell fluttered through them. It smelled exactly like a bottle of beer should. There were no traces of anything special, at least anything that could be detected from scent alone. There was nothing wrong with it, from what he could tell.

“I’m not going to poison you, either.” And when she put it that way, he sounded paranoid.  
“Better safe than sorry.” He said, honestly. That was the code that he had lived by for years. It hadn’t steered him wrong, yet. It was the only reason that he had survived for 13 years, in Shadles’ crew, when the average was five. He was careful, when he needed to be, which was always.

“Whatever makes you happy, skull guy.” She said, as she tipped the beer back. She drank it, without even hesitating. For some reason, it made him feel like an idiot. She hadn’t even smelt it, first.

He reached up, and grabbed the lower part of his mask. He lifted it, just over the upper lip of his mouth. He wasn’t going to take the whole thing off- not in front of Tapilow. He wasn’t that stupid. He might be drinking her beer, and breaking every policy that Shadles and Edgar had painstakingly drilled into his brain, but he wasn’t stupid enough to compromise his identity to the enemy.

“Really? Okay, two problems here. One,” She paused, as if to drill her point into his head. “Who wears a mask when they’re drinking? It’s not exactly Halloween, anymore.”

He resented that. He was the Mad King. His mask was as much a part of him as his arm was. It wasn’t just some costume. It was a symbol of his identity, and he resented the idea that it was any less than that.

“Two, who wears face paint under a skull mask? How paranoid are you?”

Who was she, to insult him like that? She was just another second rate criminal, who worked under his newest mark. She was going to be irrelevant the second that the hit was done. Why should she be able to chastise him?

“As much as I need to be.”

“Are you an 80’s action movie star?” She asked. He had no response to that. “What’s your name, anyway, skull guy?”

He considered giving her a fake name. He had a thousand in his queue, ready at a moment’s notice. From Dan Smith to Clint Vite to any of the other names that he had gone by over the years. He could give her any of them, and she wouldn’t be any wiser.

But she was going to be dead in an hour, anyway. He might as well be honest, in her last moments.

“Ryan.”

“I’m Jack Patillo. Nice to meet you, Ryan.” She held out her hand for him to shake. Hesitantly, he shook it.

He was wearing gloves, anyway. Anything she could have been planning to do would have been stopped by that.

For some reason, he didn’t feel like she was meaning to be malicious. She felt too calm for that. Too benevolent. The most that she had done since she had noticed him was hand him a beer, and complain about his mask. It didn’t get any less dangerous than that.

He could hear Edgar screaming in his head that that made her dangerous. He was underestimating her, and it was going to come back to bite him in the ass. He could already imagine what kind of reaction he was going to get after his report. He was going to be on cellar duty for a year. Or maybe he would just give Ryan another month long undercover job. Those were always boring.

He took a swig of the bottle, after that. He really didn’t want to think about what he was going to have to do. He would much rather just focus on the present, instead of whatever punishment Edgar was going to inflict on him, after this.

The mask was making it difficult to drink, but he didn’t care. It helped him deal with the situation, a little. It had always served as a reminder of who he was supposed to be.

The Mad King wasn’t someone who shied away from a kill. He didn’t feel bad when he shot someone in the head. The Mad King was able to sit and drink with his enemy, before putting a bullet in her brain. He would probably keep drinking, after that, too. It helped him deal with this type of thing, sometimes.

“I like the mask. It’s not just a Halloween costume.” He muttered, under his breath. Patillo looked up at him, and shook her head.

“You know, you’re not the only copycat killer I’ve come across, right?” There was concern in her voice, as if she was worried that he didn’t understand what a copycat was. The question didn’t make sense, though. He had never copied anyone’s kills. Why would she assume that?

“What? I’m not-” He stuttered, even more confused than he had been earlier. Did she think that he was copying himself? “I am the Mad King.”

“Sure, Ryan.” The disbelief in her voice was starting to get on his nerves. Why did she think that he was lying? Did he actually have copycats? Had she run into any, before? He would have to deal with those, when he got the chance. Edgar would be pissed, when he reported that. They could be demolishing his reputation, if he let them go unchecked.

He wanted to prove it to her. To show her that he was exactly who he said he was. He was the assassin with the skull mask. He hadn’t failed a hit in his life.

He didn’t try, though. There would be no point to it. The more that she underestimated him, the more that she would relax. He might even be able to get information from her about Ramsey. Edgar might forgive him, if he brought back information.

“Are you ever going to take off that mask, or are you just going to keep up the charade?”

Ryan hesitated, again. He shouldn’t. Edgar was going to kill him, and Shadles was going to join in. Hell, Andersmith was probably going to punch him, if he went through with this.

Patillo was just a civilian, though. He was going to kill her, anyway. What could she do to him, if he showed his face? It was covered with paint, anyway. She wouldn’t be able to recognize him.

The mask was off, before he could second guess himself. He stared at Patillo without the shield of plastic to hide behind. His distress was probably easy to notice, now.

“There we go. Wasn’t that hard, was it?”

No, it was incredibly hard. It was going to be hard later, too. Edgar wasn’t just going to make him guard the cellar. He was going to be the one in the cellar. He had messed up, this time. He had really fucked up.

He didn’t respond to Patillo. He just chugged the rest of the bottle, as quickly as he could. He wanted to be drunk. He wanted to forget everything that was going to come, once he shot Ramsey. Once he shot Patillo.

He realized, quickly, that the beer tasted suspiciously watery, and he realized that he wasn’t going to be getting drunk, that night.

“So, Ryan, you want to tell me who sent you?” Patillo asked. The smile on her face didn’t waver.

This felt too similar to an interrogation for Ryan to feel even the slightest bit of comfort. He was usually at the helm of interrogations. It was weird to be in the opposite seat.

“Edgar.” He wasn’t afraid to admit that to her. Even if she didn’t believe him, it was common knowledge that the Mad King worked for Edgar. Shadles had made sure that that information had gotten out. It had served as a great business incentive for them. Whenever a killing needed to be done, people looked to Shadles like moths to a flame.

“Ryan, look,” Patillo said, as calmly as she had said everything else. He could tell from her tone alone that she didn't believe him. “You’re kind of in the weaker position here. You have two choices, right now. You can tell the truth, or I can throw you out of that window.”

“Go for it. Throw me out that window.” His voice was starting to slip back into that dark and gritty tone that he used for every ordinary little kill. If she was going to threaten her, he might as well show her who she was threatening.

He was just about to unsheathe his knife, when the door handle shook.

Before Ryan could react, there was an arm roughly shoving his own behind his back. He moved to push it away, but Patillo’s other hand shoved him over the countertop. He was forced on top of his free arm, pinning it underneath his own body. He tried to push away, but the elbow digging into his neck forced his head completely against the granite. He kicked at her with his legs, but none of the blows struck her. She was just out of his reach.

He was pinned. Holy shit, he was pinned! He was trapped under the enemy, waiting for her superior to find him. He was going to die, and it was going to be his own fault!

How had he let himself fuck up that badly? He should have shot her the second that she noticed him! Now, he was just going to be target practice for Ramsey.

At least Edgar wouldn’t find out about his mistakes.

The door swung open, and loudly crashed against the wall. Ramsey was always a melodramatic fucker.

Ryan pushed again, desperately trying to get free before they would be able to see him like that. Patillo didn’t relent.

A man, with a face that Ryan had memorized, trailed into the room. One of his hands was clutching a bottle of beer, that was definitely more close to empty than full. His famous moustache looked as disheveled as his clothes did. He had probably been out for a night of drinking, as he had always been privy to. Ryan should have shot him at the bar. It would have been safer.

Ramsey looked surprised to see Patillo holding him down in their kitchen. He physically took a step back in surprise, when he walked in.

“Hello,” He said, cautiously. “Strange face paint man and Jack?”

Ryan tried to shake Patillo off of him- tried to reach for his knife-, but she shoved her elbow further into his neck. He froze, afraid that if she pushed down any further she would break something. Her grip was starting to hurt, and his wrist was definitely starting to strain.

“This is Ryan. He’s an assassin. He’s pretty cool.” She said, nonchalantly. As if she wasn’t shoving him into a table, face first. As if she wasn’t about to break his arm, if he made the slightest movement.  
Ramsey, instead of reacting like a normal and sane person would, just shrugged, and took a swig of his beer.

“Why are you holding him down, then?” Ramsey asked. Ryan was beginning to doubt whether or not Patillo was the one he was supposed to kill, and if there had actually been a mixup in the paperwork. If Ramsey’s face hadn’t gotten switched with Patillo’s somewhere along the way. It seemed like Patillo was much more dangerous than he was.

“Just making sure he doesn’t attack, before you search him.”

Ramsey shrugged, and walked over to them. He knelt down besides Ryan, and moved to start his search.

Ryan growled, intending to scare him away from him. It had worked a few times before. Usually, when Ryan threatened someone, they would run for the hills. Instead, Ramsey just laughed.

“Calm down, man. We’re not going to kill you or anything.”

His arm was pulled further against his back, as a warning. He tried to pull away, but Patillo’s grip was like iron. There was no struggling allowed.

The first thing that Ramsey found in his coat was the knife that he had kept hidden in his jacket pocket. The one that, by chance, had just missed stabbing him when Patillo shoved him into the table.

The second thing that Ramsey found was another knife that was hidden in the opposite pocket. Then, the two by his feet. Then, the gun in his other pocket. Then, the gun that he had kept strapped to his back. And the two knives under his shoes.

This was pathetic. He was completely defenseless, staring down the man who was searching for ways to make him even more so. He couldn’t move- couldn’t fight back.

This was exactly what Edgar had warned him about, and he had ignored him. Ryan wished that he was back at base, even if he was probably going to get a hell of a beating for this. He’d be lucky if he wasn’t shot.

“How many do you even have?” Ramsey exclaimed, after he had found the blades under his boots. Ryan didn’t respond. Didn’t bother to mention that he had found all of them. The six knives, and two guns that he constantly had on his purpose. They wouldn’t believe him, no matter how many times he promised it.. “Are there any more, or do I have to check your ass, too?”

“I’m clear.” Ryan announced, through gritted teeth. Ramsey just nodded, and took a step back from him. Wait. Did they actually believe him?

Apparently they did, because Patillo followed his lead, quickly releasing Ryan from her hold.

“Sorry about that. Just wanted to make sure you didn’t try to hurt Geoff. That would have been a mistake.” There was a thinly veiled threat in Patillo’s voice. Ryan could recognize it easily.

“I’m sure it would have.” He also recognized that his anger was also thinly veiled. Normally, he would have been able to hide it behind his mask, but now he was defenseless. He had no knives, no guns, and no mask. He was not in a good position.

“Why’d you even have that many knives?” Ramsey asked.

“It is my job,” Ryan answered, a sardonic tone dripping into the answer. “Assassin. Kind of have to kill people, sometimes, and I like to have backups.”

“You had five backups? Someone’s paranoid.”

Why did they think that? They were criminals, positioned in the most dangerous city in America. No one was too paranoid, when they were in Los Santos. Besides, it wasn’t paranoia if it was justified.

“Better to be prepared.”

“Have I ever seen you before?” Patillo asked, suddenly, entirely out of the blue. What was wrong with these people? They were both acting insane. This wasn't at all like an ordinary interrogation. It was just weird. “I feel like I have.”

“I’ve never met either of you.” To be honest, her name sounded familiar, but not enough that he could have known her. It was more likely that he had probably heard her name whispered on the streets, along with Ramsey’s. Shadles’ crew talked about them a lot. It had probably come up in conversation, before.

Patillo shrugged, and dropped the subject.

“So, what do you want?” Ryan asked, finally getting to the point.

“What?” Ramsey asked. Ryan just rolled his eyes.

“You’re obviously not going to let me go. You took my stuff for a reason. So, why?” It was starting to get irritating dealing with those two. They were all criminals. They all knew how this type of interaction usually ended. They didn’t have to beat around the bush anymore.

“We’re not stopping you from doing anything. We just took the knives so you wouldn’t stab us. You’re free to go, anytime you like, dude.” Ramsey said.

That wasn’t how it usually went. Usually, they would ask him a thousand questions, and they would shoot him when he was done. Or, as Patillo seemed to favor, they would throw him out of the window. They usually didn’t just let someone go.

Ryan narrowed his eyes, and grabbed a hold of his mask. He slipped it over his face, without hesitation. The more barrier between the two of them and him, the better he would feel.

He didn’t ask for the weapons. There was no chance that he was getting them back. Besides, Edgar had a thousand replicas back at the base. There was no need to beg for them. He was going to have to report back, anyway. He didn’t want to make it any worse, by begging Ramsey for anything.

He walked out of the door, and neither of them stopped him. 

\---

“Let me get this straight,” Edgar was practically ready to snap his neck. He could feel the anger radiating off of the man. Even the two guards by the door looked uncomfortable with the pure fury in his tone. Edgar usually didn’t get that angry, and he was going overboard with it. “You failed a hit, took a drink from the enemy, showed your face, and lost every single weapon I gave you? After you told them that I sent you?”

Ryan felt like he should be shitting himself. Edgar was furious. Ryan was going to be killed, and no one here was going to stop Edgar from doing it. His record was tarnished now, anyway. He was nothing more than another criminal, without his record. He might as well be shot, now.

“They surprised me.” It was a weak argument, and he knew it. 

He felt scared for the first time in years. His mouth was as dry as it had been when he had killed his first victim. He felt like throwing up- like running away, and never looking back.

“You’re going soft, aren’t you?” It was said like an accusation, and Ryan flinched. Edgar seemed to take that as proof. “You are! You’re getting soft!”

Ryan didn’t argue. He knew better than to argue with his superiors.

“Hey, asshole,” Edgar gestured to one of the guards. The one wearing a wolf’s mask tensed, and took a step forward. “Get Lieutenant. I think I know what we have to do here.” The wolf nodded and ran off.

Ryan really wanted to throw up. He didn’t want Andersmith to be involved with this. This was his fault- his failure. Andersmith had had nothing to do with it.

But Andersmith was supposed to be keeping his eye on him. That was the job of a handler. To make sure that their charge never screwed up. And Ryan had screwed up. To Edgar, they shared the blame. Ryan had forgotten about that policy, after years of success. Andersmith didn’t just share in his success; he shared in the failures too.

Ryan didn’t complain. He didn’t even try to open his mouth. He just stood as still as ever, as Edgar toyed with his pistol.

“Do you want me to kill you? You broke every single rule that we set. I feel like you want me to kill you.”

Edgar crossed the distance between them, and suddenly there was a pistol under his jaw. Ryan tensed, and froze. Edgar’s finger was locked onto the trigger, and any movement might set him off.

Cold metal settled against cold skin, and Ryan had to hold back a shudder. Edgar was pushing the pistol hard, practically jamming it into his neck.

Ryan was finally struck by the fact that he might die here. There was a pistol ready to fire into his brain. He had lasted 13 years in this business, and he was about to lose that record. If Edgar wanted, he was going to die. He wasn’t going to get to go back home to his shitty little apartment. He wasn’t going to get to retire (even if that hadn’t been an option, from the start). Andersmith was going to go the exact same way as he had.

They were going to die.

“Answer me!” The man screamed suddenly, pulling down on the trigger, slightly. Ryan winced, and flinched his eyes shut.

“No.”

“You sure about that?”

“Positive.” Ryan answered, as calmly as he could manage. He did pretty well, in that regard. He definitely didn’t sound like he had a gun pressed against his jaw.

The wolf walked back into the room, with one of his hand locked onto Andersmith’s arm. He tugged Ryan’s handler into the room, without a grain of remorse.

Andersmith’s eyes went wide, when he saw the position that Ryan was in. He tried to take a step back, in his surprise, but the wolf’s grip was relentless. Andersmith was only pulled further into the room.  
“Good,” Edgar said, before the handler could react. “Glad to hear it.”

Edgar took a step back, finally removing his gun from Ryan’s skull. Ryan let out a sigh, and shut his eyes for a split second. He wasn’t going to die. He was going to live. He didn’t have to die!

“But you see,” The criminal’s tone went from relieved to cruel, in only a second. “We can’t exactly let you get off scot free for that. You’re getting soft. We need to fix that, and I think I know the perfect way.”  
Edgar shoved his gun into Ryan’s hand, and took a step back. The guard by the door took out his own, and locked it onto Ryan’s still form.

“All you have to do is kill him,” Edgar gestured to Andersmith, and Ryan’s brain stopped working. He had to kill his handler? He couldn’t do that. They were friends. He couldn’t kill his friend. That wasn’t how this worked. “We can put all of this behind us. Wipe this little blemish from the map. I’ll send you in to kill Ramsey, and your record will be fine. If you don’t want to… Well, he can kill you.”

He liked to pretend that he hesitated. He liked to pretend that he said “No”, and was forced into it. That he didn’t kill anyone, and that the man by the door, with the wooden mask, had shot Andersmith. Sometimes, he liked to pretend that he had killed Edgar, and had gotten his revenge for everything.

He didn’t, though. He hadn’t hesitated. He hadn’t said “No.” He had aimed the gun, and pulled the trigger before Andersmith could finish telling him not to do it.

He liked to pretend that he dropped the gun, after that, but he didn’t. He had clung to it even harder, enough that his knuckles had gone white. He had just taken the gun, that had been pressed against his jaw only a few seconds ago, and he had shot his best friend with it. He was a fucking monster.

Edgar had laughed at his reaction, and had taken the gun without a word. He had walked away, with only a passing “Take Ramsey down, or we do this again”, as he left.

\---

He had just killed Andersmith. He had just murdered the only friend that he had had for the past 13 years. The only person who hadn’t threatened him, and everything that he stood for.

Had he expected it? He had to have, right? Ryan had always made it clear that he valued himself over anyone else. Andersmith should have realized what was going to happen, the second that Ryan was given the option.

Ryan was the Mad King, and he was valuable. Edgar wouldn’t have killed him, anyway. He was too important to the crew. He brought too much business. Andersmith had been fair game, and Ryan had saved him from a much more painful death. He had shot him right between the eyes- instant death. Edgar would have made him suffer. Ryan had saved him from that. He had done good. He wasn’t a bad guy, yet. He was still good. Right?

Had he ever been good?

Ramsey’s apartment was only a few feet away. He was right outside the door, and all that he had to do was burst in and shoot him in the skull. He deserved it. It was his fault that Andersmith had died, after all. If he had just let Ryan kill him, none of that would have happened.

He knew that he was breathing too heavily. That even through his mask, anyone should have been able to hear him. That he was just going to draw attention, and it was going to sabotage the mission, and Edgar was going to be pissed again and he had just killed his friend why should he even care?

His heart was beating too quickly- pounding against his chest like a drum. It was too fast- too hard- and Ryan was scared. Genuinely terrified.

It had been fourteen years since his last experience with absolute fear, and he had felt it twice in one day. Between Edgar’s gun being at his neck, between his sudden fear of death, between the murder, and every other thing that had happened, he was horrified.

He collapsed against the wall around the time that he realized what was happening. He was having a panic attack, wasn’t he? Great. Perfect timing. It had to wait until he was outside the door of the enemy. His first panic attack, and it was happening during a mission. Spectacular.

Edgar was going to kill him, when he found out that Ryan was literally sitting outside the door, absolutely defenseless. He was literally going to kill him, this time. Two protocol breaches in one day? There was going to be no getting out of this one.

His chest was hurting more than his wrist did, and that was a feat in itself. It felt like his ribs were imploding on themselves. It wasn’t that bad, and ordinarily he could manage it, but now it was just getting to be too much.

Everything was piling on him at once, and he couldn’t handle it!

“Ryan?” That was Patillo. How was that Patillo? He hadn’t gone in, yet. She shouldn’t know that he was here. How did she always know where he was? “What happened?”

“I killed him. My handler. I killed him!” He was speaking too fast, and too much, and he shouldn’t be sharing that, so why was he sharing that? Why were the words practically spilling out of his mouth. Why couldn’t he stop them?

“You have a handler?” He wasn’t shocked that she was more surprised by that. They were criminals. They shouldn’t care that he killed someone. He was an assassin, for godsake. He shouldn’t care, either. 

“What happened?”

“Edgar was pissed, and it was me or him. Edgar gave me a gun and I shot him! And I’m fucking up, and he’s going to kill me, and this is going to be pointless, and I killed him for nothing!” He didn’t know why he was telling her so much. There was no reason. He shouldn’t be doing that. She was the enemy. She was the one who wanted him to kill Andersmith. It was her fault, and now he was just using her to cement his own death.

“You really do work for Edgar?” There was an alarm in her voice, and he had almost forgotten that she hadn’t believed him. That she had thought that he was some sort of copycat killer.

He nodded, a little too quickly for his own tastes. She must have been thinking that he was weak, right? He was the Mad King, and here he was having a panic attack on the enemy’s doorstep. She must have been laughing at him, inside.

“Why is he going to kill you?” There sounded like there was genuine care in her voice. Why would she care? Why should she ever have given a shit? She had known Ryan for less than two hours. Why should she give half a shit about his welfare?

“I’m supposed to be killing Ramsey,” He shouldn’t be giving away this information. This was classified. But he was sick of hiding and lying and pretending and faking everything all the time! For five minutes, he wanted to tell someone everything that he had kept hidden for 13 years. That wasn’t asking for much, was it? “And I’m sitting outside his front door!”

“Ryan, you’re having a panic attack,” Oh course, she knew that! Of course, he would be that unlucky! His enemy knew exactly what he was going through. Great! “It’s not your fault.”

Ryan didn’t respond. He just tried to focus on slowing his breathing down. He needed to, or he was going to hurt himself. He was breathing hard enough that he was scared that he was going to break his rib, if he pushed too hard

It wasn’t working, though. It just kept going, and his heart just kept racing, and the shaking was only getting worse, and he felt like he was going to die, and it was terrifying.

“You said Edgar was going to kill you?” Patillo asked, cautiously. Ryan nodded. This was his last chance, and he had just blown it. Blown it into more smithereens than Andersmith’s head had been in. Any chance at survival was lost, now. Had been lost the second that he had fucked up. The criminal with a 99% record didn’t exactly suit Shadles very well. He was worthless, now. “You don’t have to go back, you know.”

What?

\---

When Geoff walked back into the apartment, he wasn’t exactly surprised to find the assassin playing Halo on his couch. Honestly, he had spent long enough in the criminal underground that that was completely ordinary. Hell, he had spent enough time with Jack Patillo to know that that was to be expected.

He also wasn’t surprised by Jack’s response.

“Welcome back, Geoff. Ryan’s back. He’s going to be joining the crew, now.”

Of course he was. Why wouldn’t he, really? They had already picked up three other strays. Might as well bring on a fourth. Especially if he liked Halo.

Geoff only hoped that he wasn’t as good as Ray.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I’ve never really had a panic attack so I’m sorry if it wasn’t accurate. I’m not really as satisfied with the ending of this one, but it’s an important part of Ryan and Jack’s characters and I can’t seem to get it right, anyway, so I figured "fuck it." I’ve tried for long enough on this chapter. I also have to do an english project, so I should probably not have spent the weekend working on this, but "fuck it", right?


	4. Two Minutes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is about three months after Ryan joins Fake AH. The crew is together. This takes place after a failed heist.

There had always been some sort of idea that they were invulnerable. If tanks and Shadles couldn’t stop them, what could? They were immortal. Nothing could touch them.

It was this situation was so absolutely jarring for them. Nothing was supposed to be able to beat them. Nothing could hurt them.

But Ryan, the dangerously unfeeling Mad King, had a bullet in his stomach, and Geoff had an arm that was probably broken, because it wouldn’t freaking listen, when he told it to move.

Ryan was leaning against the wall, with one hand clutching his broken mask, and the other pressing on his wound. He had his eyes shut.

“Stay awake, Ryan.” Geoff warned him. Ryan blinked at him, rapidly. He looked more disoriented than Geoff had ever seen him.

“I’m up, boss.” He promised, through clenched teeth. He didn’t sound good.

Geoff tapped on his earpiece, as he had done so many other times since they had stumbled out of the water. If the others had gotten it back online, then they could get help. Ryan could live, and Geoff wouldn’t have to leave his corpse in a subway tunnel.

Static sounded through his ear. Geoff sighed, and switched it back off. No one was coming, yet. They were probably as incapacitated as they were. He hoped not, but it was the most likely possibility. The heist had gone way too badly for them to have come off unscathed.

He shook his head at his own thought. They hadn’t come back unscathed. Ryan was hurt. Ryan was badly hurt. He was one of them. Geoff hated that he had to remind himself of that.

“You know,” The injured man said, slowly. For a second, Geoff, remembered their first heist, when Ryan had shot him in the shoulder, and had tried to make off with the money. That hadn’t been a fun experiences. “Staying awake is harder than I thought.”

“Maybe if you’d actually slept sooner than two days ago, it’d be a little easier for you.” Geoff muttered. Ryan let out a low, gurgling laugh, that suited him much less than it should have.

“Blame insomnia, boss. I’m the victim here.” Geoff laughed at the idea. Ryan being perceived as a victim was a laughable idea by itself. He was the most famous hitman in Los Santos. Victim wasn’t a card he could play, easily.

“Or it’s just you being an asshole and working, too much.” He told Ryan. The mercenary shrugged, and only winced slightly at the movement. Even so, Geoff felt a sudden surge of panic. A slight show of pain from Ryan Haywood was practically a scream for attention. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” It was a dismissive statement, intended to cut off the conversation entirely. It worked.

Geoff tested his earpiece for the fourth time that day. This time, when the static ran through his ear, he didn’t turn it back off. He left it running, a quiet soundtrack to the previously silent subway.

“Are the comms running?” Ryan asked, hesitantly. His voice was hoarse in a way that genuinely sounded painful.

“No. I think they got shorted out during the crash.” Apparently crashing a car off of a bridge, and into the ocean could wreak havoc on electronics. Who could have expected that?

Ryan sighed, but paused part way through, cut off by the jostling of the bullet in his stomach. It was almost pitiful to hear the small shriek that he emitted, followed by utter silence. His face was red, under his paint.

Geoff glanced at the wound, only to find it completely covered by a blood-drenched hand.

“Jack should find us, though. She had Gavin put a tracker in my phone, a few weeks back. Paranoid bastard.” He didn’t know if it still worked, after the fall, but he hoped so.

“We’re lucky she’s paranoid, then.” Ryan muttered. It was true, but Geoff didn’t think that Ryan would agree if he knew that Jack had bugged his car, too. The ginger probably would have done it to Ryan’s phone too, if he didn’t constantly replace it.

He didn’t mention the fond tone in Ryan’s voice. He hoped that that was the reason for that edge to his voice, and that glaze in his eyes. Otherwise, they were in severe danger.

“Yeah.” They slipped into uncomfortable silence.

Ryan dropped his head against the wall, and shut his eyes. His skin was paling, which only increased the creepy effect of the paint on his face.

He wiped a hand over his eyes, and only succeeded in smearing blood further across his face. His hand dropped back to his side the second that that was done.

Geoff walked over to him, and grabbed Ryan’s hand, with his good arm. He tugged it away, gently. Ryan let him do it, without the slightest fight. He was uncharacteristically defeated, and that scared Geoff more than he thought possible.

“Ryan?”

The mercenary didn’t respond. Geoff sighed, and rested both of his hands against Ryan’s wound. He had to stop the bleeding, and pressure was all that he had. Screw his hurt arm. There were more important matters at hand, than coddling himself.

“I’ll push on three.” He promised. Ryan nodded, and clenched his eyes shut. “Three.”

Ryan only grunted, when Geoff pressed down against his stomach. Honestly, he had probably pushed down harder than was absolutely necessary, but he was scared. Geoff was always aggressive when he was afraid. Even if it meant that he hurt his friends in the progress. That was what happened to Jack, at the start. That was what had happened to Jack, when he had returned, too. He hated that Ryan was the newest victim. Hated himself for it.

“You’re fine,” Geoff promised, still pressing down. “You’re the Mad King, remember. You’re fine.”

Ryan didn’t mention why he knew that. Why he had stopped believing that he was some sort of fraud. Geoff was glad. He didn’t have to explain, if the other man didn’t ask.

His sleeve was dripping with his friend’s blood. It didn’t seem like he was really doing anything for him, other than hurting him. The rivers of blood were still streaming out of his stomach without even hinting at slowing down. That wasn’t good. That was the exact opposite of good.

Ryan’s face paint was disrupted, again, as he ran his hand over his face. Again, a stream of blood followed the hand. Geoff really wished that he would stop doing that. Ryan was scary enough. He didn’t need to make that worse.

The static in Geoff’s ear was starting to become nerve-racking. Why hadn’t they gotten the comm’s back up? Why hadn’t they tracked them, yet? Were they okay? What had happened with the rest of the mission? Had that gone wrong too?

His fear must have shown on his face, because Ryan looked concerned.

“News?” His voice was hoarse and low. He sounded like he had swallowed a thousand knives. It was getting worse, and they both knew it.

Ryan might not make it out of that tunnel.

Geoff shoot his head, in response. Ryan knew as much as he did. Nothing at all.

He pressed down harder, and this time Ryan let out a small groan of pain. The noise gurgled in his throat, in a way that hurt some empathetic part of Geoff. That was never a good sign.

“Don’t you fucking die on me, you asshole.” He told the injured man. This time, Ryan didn’t laugh- didn’t respond. He just locked his eyes on the floor, and refused to look at Geoff. Like he knew that he couldn’t promise that. Like he was afraid to.

The only sign that the man was even alive was the small trembling in his shoulders. It was mostly concealed by his jacket, but it was apparent enough for Geoff to notice it.

Geoff decided not to mention it. Knowing Ryan, he would already be kicking himself for letting his pain be visible- even if it was only that little sign. Ryan had always been ridiculously careful when it came to pain.

On one memorable occasion, they had been celebrating at the end of the heist, and Gavin had drunkenly stumbled into Ryan’s apartment. He had found the mercenary passed out on the floor with a bullet in his chest. He had apparently hidden it well enough until he had reached his apartment. Jack had almost killed him, after that.

It wasn’t all too dissimilar a situation to the one they were in, now. Ryan was on the floor, bleeding from a gunshot wound, and there was a high probability that no one was coming. Hopefully, it would have the same outcome as that had. Ryan making it out alive and someone finding him. That would be nice. Unlikely- but nice.

Geoff grabbed Ryan’s hand, and placed it back on his stomach, before taking a seat by the injured man.

There was one difference in that situation and this one. In this one, Geoff was there, and he wasn’t going to let his friend die.

“Put pressure on that.” He ordered. Ryan nodded, a small and short movement. He pressed down. This time, he didn’t groan.

Geoff dug through his pockets for a band aid- a cloth- anything! His hand pressed up against a large square of leather. He grabbed a hold of it, and tugged it out. A flask was better than nothing.

“Okay, let go, Ry.” The man complied. Geoff pulled up his shirt, ignoring the flinch as he accidentally scraped against the wound. He needed to see every inch of Ryan’s injury, if he was going to do this.

He uncapped the flask, and shook it. A fair amount of alcohol swooshed inside of it. He thanked every facilitator of that product for ensuring that it was waterproof. And apparently ocean-diving proof.

He tipped the contained on its side. Liquid gold poured out of the opening, landing directly into the open cavity. Ryan flinched his eyes shut, but didn’t make any movements to lean away. His hands clenched into fists at his side, with the nails digging into his palms, as he desperately tried not to scream. Honestly, Geoff appreciated the effort.

When the last drop of alcohol had left the flash, Geoff shoved it back into his pocket. He could worry about the new collection of blood on it, later. Right not, Ryan was still in danger, and he wanted- needed- to help him.

“It shouldn’t get infected, now.” He explained. The mercenary stared at him, with a more unimpressed look than Geoff had seen since they had forced Ray to play Monopoly. The expression didn’t exactly suit the situation.

“What?” Geoff asked. Ryan didn’t respond- just locked the Monopoly glare onto Geoff. It was unnerving, to say the least. “I just saved your life!”

“Thanks.”

Static took the place of the silence.

\---

His arm was throbbing. The fall from the bridge must have jarred it really badly, and he had barely even noticed it. It was shaking, trembling beyond his control. He could feel liquid- probably blood- dripping down from his shoulder.

He must have seriously hurt it. He had noticed, but he had been too preoccupied with helping Ryan to care.

His eyes crashed open, as he remembered why he had even fallen from the bridge in the first place. Ryan.

Ryan was hurt, and Geoff had fallen asleep. One of his friends was /dying, and he had fallen asleep. What kind of an asshole was he?

“Ryan? You alive?” He asked, quietly. His arm stopped its trembling.

The pressure on Geoff’s arm faded, as Ryan pulled away from him. The arm still hurt, but most of the weight was gone. He could ignore the pain, for the time being.

Ryan didn’t respond to his question. He just backed away from Geoff, locking his back against the wall.

He had managed to strap his mask back onto his head, but it barely covered anything. The upper half of his face was still clearly visible. The paint, that looked to be mostly blood, by now, looked like it had been scrubbed off of his face.

He had pried the contacts out of his eyes, and had dropped them onto the floor. It had probably been a few hours. They had probably started hurting him. Geoff was almost surprised that he hadn’t complained, before he remembered that Ryan hadn’t complained about the bullet in his stomach, either.

The first thing that Geoff noticed about Ryan’s eyes was that they were blue. He had known Ryan for six months, and he realized that he had never known that. It was for the same reason that he didn’t know what the mercenaries hair color actually was. The man had been way too capable of hiding his identity. Eerily so, actually.

The second thing that Geoff noticed was that they were watery.

Was Ryan /crying? Ryan didn’t cry. He did not have tears streaming down his face. He did not cry in a subway tunnel. Ryan was one of the highest rated mercenaries in all of Los Santos. He should not be crying. 

“Ryan?” Geoff repeated. The man ducked his head away, hiding himself just that much more.

This hadn’t happened, before. Ryan hadn’t even complained in front of them, once. Crying was not something that Geoff had ever expected him to do. Nor did he want him to.

“Ramsey.” If Ryan’s voice was all that he could hear, he would assume that all was fine. It was calm, smoother than Geoff had thought possible. He had to have trained for that. That was the only way that he could have ensured that his voice to be that relaxed, when he was dying of a bullet in his torso.

Or maybe Geoff was just a pussy. That was always a possibility.

Ryan looked worse than he had the day that he had joined their crew. He looked panicked- definitely more than he had before.

“Are you alright, Ry?” Geoff asked. He almost kicked himself, then. How stupid a question was that?

“I’m fine.” His face said otherwise.

Geoff stood, and walked over to the injured man. He wasn’t going to leave him alone. Ryan might pretend that everything was fine, but it wasn’t. He was hurt, and probably dying, and he needed a friend. He deserved a friend.

He sat down next to Ryan, and this time Ryan didn’t run away. He sat there, as Geoff pushed a little closer to him- offering his own little brand of comfort. Ryan didn’t respond at all. He just sat there- as still as a rock, with glazed over eyes and a slight tremble in his fingers.

“You’ll be fine, Ry.” Geoff promised. The man still didn’t react, but at least his shoulders had stopped shaking. That was progress, right?

\---

The static cut out without warning, and Ryan tensed. Geoff pushed him down, further against the wall, in an attempt to stop him from hurting his stomach any more than he already had.

“DG, can you read me?” The voice was soft and quiet, but Geoff felt like cheering, as it ran through his ear. They had made it! Ryan had survived and Geoff had survived! They were fine! Michael was going to rescue them! They were going to make it!

“Michael! This is Geoff,” Screw the code names. “I got Ryan with me. We’re in the tunnels! Ryan’s hurt, and we need backup, /now!” He knew that he was sounding panicked, but, honestly, he was. He was scared, and there was no hiding it.

“Geoff? We got you.” That was Jack’s voice. Geoff let out a small sigh, as he realized that she was alive. She was safe. The four of them had made it. Hopefully Ray and Gavin had, too.

“Alive, but not for long. He got shot. I think he’s bleeding out.”

Ryan wasn’t speaking, and Geoff was starting to worry about that. Normally, he would have made some stupid comment. He would have argued that he was, in fact, fine. Silence wasn’t normal, coming from Ryan Haywood. Silence was dangerous.

“We’ll bring Caleb. Can we move him?” Geoff glanced at the injured man. Ryan shook his head.

“No.” There was a slight intake of breath, from Jack. A small sign of panic that Geoff wouldn’t have noticed, if he hadn’t known her for years. She was worried, and so was he.

“Gotcha,” She said after a moments hesitation. “We’ll be there as soon as we can keep Ryan alive, Geoff.” The static didn’t come back, this time, when she stopped addressing him. The room just slipped into an eery silence, that Geoff really didn’t want to hear. He didn’t want to listen to the slow- pained breaths coming out of Ryan’s mouth. He wanted the static back. Even if that made him cowardly, he needed it.

Ryan let out a minuscule, almost indecipherable sigh. He suddenly slumped forward, like a puppet with its strings cut. His head slipped off of Geoff’s shoulder, and rapidly came down crashing against the floor.

Geoff practically leapt to his feet, as he moved to pick up his injured friend. Was Ryan hurt? Or- a better question would be- did that fall hurt him even more than he already was?

“Ryan!” Geoff called out, as he pushed the man into an upright position. He pried the mask off of his face, without any hesitation.

Red was leaking down Ryan’s face, originating from his half-opened mouth. It smudged the paint on his face, coating it in a terrifying crimson.

Geoff quickly pried open his eyelids, and only found a white orb staring back at him. No pupils- no anything. Ryan was well and truly unconscious. That wasn’t good. That really wasn’t good!

“Ryan!” Geoff screamed. “Wake the hell up!”

Ryan didn’t move. Didn’t react, in the slightest. Geoff tried to shake him awake, but he didn’t even blink.

“Ryan, I swear, if you fucking die- I am going to beat the dying shit out of you.”

Geoff shook him- slapped him- pushed him- punched him. Nothing was happening. Nothing was working.

Ryan was dying.

\---

The world was a mix of fog and glass. The blurred figures danced around the room, rapidly. Their too loud voices shrieked against his ears, only serving to sting his aching head even more.

Ryan had gotten a migraine before, and this was so much worse. There was more pain and a thousand times more confusion. Migraines also shouldn’t affect his stomach, right? Because he really felt like he wanted to throw up.

There was a light up above that was too bright. It hurt to look at- digging into his brain and stinging his eyes. He shut them, quickly, doing his best to flinch away from the ever-burning light. It needed to stop.

He could hear a muffled yell, but it was too close and too far away at the same times. The words didn’t formulate themselves, even if he could hear the sounds. It was too hard to cling to, and he really didn’t want to. He felt tired, like there was a heavy weight on his eyelids.

He gave way to the weight, falling into darkness, with only the screams of his name to serenade him.

\---

When he woke up again, the world wasn’t warped, anymore. It was clear, and the blur had dissipated.

There was no pain, anymore. There was just a cold numbness working its way into his veins. He wasn’t very familiar with that feeling. It was unnerving to him. Had he been drugged? He hoped not. The others would make fun of him for that. Or, if they weren’t in so good a mood, their humor would be much less innocent about it.

There was a bitter, coppery taste in his mouth. /That was something that he was familiar with. There had been blood in his mouth. That wasn’t exactly rare, for him, even with his mask to protect him from most blood splatters. Their business forced them to get used to the taste of it. Some of them actually learned to enjoy them, for a few years. Ryan, luckily, wasn’t one of them.

Speaking of, where was his mask? He had never been drugged while his mask was off. He didn’t take off his mask when he left his apartment. Why would he have ever take it off, anyway? How had he even gotten here?

He had gotten hurt- hadn’t he? He’d been shot, and Geoff (Geoff! He was real! He existed! He’d taken him here) had been driven off of that bridge, and they had hidden in a tunnel, and Ryan had been so sure that he was going to die.

How had he not? He was going to die. He was supposed to. They were alone in a subway tunnel. Death was supposed to be an inevitability. How had he escaped that?

The last thing that he could remember was Geoff talking to Jack. What had happened between then and now?

He tried to sit up, but his body refused to listen to him. A jolt of pain shot through his nerves- a quiet warning to stop moving. He, of course, ignored it.

He managed to drop his arm off of whatever soft surface he was laying on. It was probably a couch, but the world was still too foggy to place it.

He let out a quiet groan, and regretted it instantly. He wasn’t supposed to show his pain. Especially not when he didn’t know where he was.

Something shifted across the room. Ryan tensed, and subsequently winced from the resulting pain.

“Ryan,” The voice was quiet- almost testing. It very quickly rose to a yell. “Geoff! Ryan’s awake!” The volume stung his ears. It was too loud- too much!

There was a crashing, and it made Ryan flinch. It was loud. Everything was loud. /Way /too /loud!

The door swung open and crashed against the wall. A man, with a face that Ryan had memorized, a patented mustache, and his arm in a sling, raced into the room. He practically crashed into the wall from his efforts.

“You fucking asshole,” Geoff exclaimed, furiously. He didn’t lunge at Ryan, like he would have expected him to. He just stood there with shaking fists and an angry glare. “I thought you were going to fucking die!”

“Where’s my mask?” Ryan asked, softly. The other man blinked, seemingly stunned by the question.

“Fuck your mask!” Geoff exploded. He was shaking, fury radiating off of him. Off in the corner, Gavin- and that was who the loud voice was, which made more sense than he could have imagined- was looking afraid of his boss. It seemed as if that was a new experience for him. It probably was.

“That’s rude.” Ryan declared, allowing a slight twinge of sarcastic humor into his tone. He wanted to calm the infuriated man, before he could do anything that he would regret.

“I thought you died!” He waved his arms, frantically, as if that would further his point. “You did! You died, and I thought that was it! We were scared! Michael almost killed Caleb, and you’re asking about your fucking mask?”

Despite himself, Ryan pressed down on the vein in his wrist. It pumped as normal, though a little faster than it should. It was fine. What was Geoff walking about? He was fine!

“I’m fine, Geoff.”

“Two minutes,” Gavin left the room. “You were legally dead for two minutes!”

“I’m disappointed that I wasn’t illegally dead. Would have been more fitting.” It was a bad joke, and he knew it.

“You’re such a prick, Ryan,” Honestly, Ryan couldn’t understand why he cared. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been legally dead before. While it may have been the longest amount of times, it wasn’t too big a deal in their business. They saved him. It was fine. People died sometimes- sometimes permanently. He was lucky to have survived. It wasn’t enough to get angry about. “We were worried about you! Caleb thought you were gone! Michael punched him, and Ray threatened him. They drugged you, and they saved you, and you just don’t give a shit. You are such an asshole!”

Why was he the asshole? It wasn’t his fault that they were stupid enough to care. That was their problem- not his.

Why did they care, anyway? He was just a hitman. Or, rather, he was supposed to be just a hitman. They shouldn’t care about him. He was just cannon fodder. He didn’t matter. Not to them.

“What’s the big deal? I’m alive. I’m fine, Geoff.” The man didn’t look satisfied by that response.

“You’re our friend, Ry. We care about you. Even if you don’t.”

Geoff walked away, without another word. He just walked away with a slight stomp in his foot. The door slammed behind him.

Ryan just stayed behind, still laying on that stupidly soft couch, a little more confused than he had been before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I started this right after I started this series, and I really did not intend for this to be so plot heavy, but yeah it is. And yeah, there is a plot to this jumbled mess. Don’t worry, I’m not bad enough to not have a plot. There is something linking all of this, and you should probably be able to guess it. Well, I hope you guys enjoyed!


	5. The IT Guy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Imagine Ryan's parents are still alive in Georgia. He gets emails and calls from them every now and then. They think he's working a desk job in Los Santos as a tech guy, nothing special..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place two months after “What Will You Do?”, which takes place a year after Ryan joins the crew, and 15 years after the second chapter. Feel old, yet?
> 
> Planning the timing for this one sucked, because I have an upcoming chapter (should be out in a month or so) that kind of changes some shit about their lifestyle. And I haven’t made a timeline, yet. So it sucked a lot.

It had been three days since their last heist, and three days, since Ryan’s last check in. Ordinarily, that would not have been too strange. Knowing the assassin, he could go weeks without checking in, and there would be nothing wrong. He might have been on a job, or trying to catch some sleep, or he might have even still been recovering. He had enough reason to.

But it had only been three months since the Edgar incident. Three months since the crew had so easily forgotten about their resident mercenary. Three months, since they had found Ryan tied up and injured, in the home base of a psychopath. It wasn’t a sight that they wanted to see again.

So, when after three days Ryan didn’t check in, Jack was even more worried than she had been when he was gone for weeks. The wound was still raw. The fear was still there. She was still worried. He wasn’t making it any easier for them, by not checking in.

Jack really hoped that the whole issue was just him not checking in.

The others had to have expected Jack to storm into Ryan’s apartment, on a furious venture to find their missing mercenary. They must have expected for her to drag him out by the ear, and to tell him that he was under penthouse arrest. They must have been surprised, when she hadn’t been the one to go.

This time, Geoff was the one who was storming through the empty apartment’s living room- a worried Jack trailing behind him. This time, it was Geoff who searched through every room in the house, in a desperate attempt to find his friend.

It couldn’t be happening, again. Ryan had been so close to getting killed, and Geoff couldn’t let that happen again. Not when he had slowly started to warm up to them. Not when he had helped them- had finally started to show them trust. Shadles and Edgar were dead. They couldn’t have survived. Michael had shot Shadles in the face, and Ryan had stabbed Edgar in the throat. It didn’t make sense for them to be alive.

Sure, Shadles’ Crew had somehow survived, with both of its leaders dead, but they couldn’t have made it. Caleb had checked. Shadles was dead- less than a corpse. He was a pile of ash floating in the middle of the ocean.

Even Edgar’s mask had been peeled away, and all that had remained was the blood from his slit throat. That was before they had burned him to a crisp.

Ryan couldn’t be hurt. Not when Geoff started to care about him, almost as much as he cared about Jack! Not when he cared about him as much as he cared about the Lads! Not again.

The last door that he tried was next to Ryan’s bedroom (which was still way too bland, for Geoff’s tastes), and it led to the bathroom. In hindsight, he probably should have checked there first. The bedroom and the bathroom were the places where crimes ordinarily occurred, in their lifestyles. People were usually defenseless, there. Unlike in a kitchen, where there were knives available pretty much everywhere. But, knowing Ryan, there were probably knives everywhere, anyway.

When he walked in, he was almost afraid that his suspicions were correct, because there was a man sitting on the floor in Ryan’s bathroom. In one hand, he had a container filled with /something, and in the other he was holding a red tie. His short, ragged, hair looked strange. Half of it was jet black, the color that he had seen before, while the other half just looked like a muddy form of yellow. On the table were a pair of color contacts, designed to change his blue eyes into the darkest shade of brown that they could manage. He was wearing a thin pair of glasses, that rested awkwardly against his nose.

The intruder was looking at Geoff with an alarmed expression on his face. He stumbled back, for a second, and tried to shield his face. It was a pointless attempt, in such a small room. Even from the door, Geoff could easily see his face. He looked almost familiar.

The familiarity didn’t stop him from rushing up to the man, and shoving him against the wall. The yellow in his hair smeared onto it, as Geoff forced him onto his feet. The man clenched his fists, and flinched away from Geoff. He slumped in on himself, and turned his head as far as he could to get away from Geoff. Another pointless attempt to hide his face.

They only knew one group that was that desperate to hide themselves. Shadles’s Crew.

“Where the fuck is Ryan?” Geoff demanded. The man had no blood on him, so he had either washed it off, or he had somehow gotten Ryan away without any struggle. There was no way that he could have managed that. Unless he had drugged him. 

If he had drugged Ryan, he was not getting out of there alive. He was leaving in a body bag, that was drenched in every ounce of blood that he had in his veins.

The man tilted his head, slightly, in confusion. He tried to move away from Geoff, but the grip was relentless. He wasn’t going to get out of there, without a bullet in his brain, and Geoff was going to make sure of that.

“Geoff, calm down.” His voice was low, but it was loud enough for Geoff to place it, easily. He let go of the man’s dress shirt, and took a step back from him, quickly.

“Ryan?”

“I need to look like a tech guy,” Ryan spoke quickly, and there was a slight panic in his voice. He sounded absolutely terrified, in an infectious way that had Geoff pacing nervously on his feet. Ryan wasn’t usually scared. Why was he, now? “Deadbeat. Piece of shit. Failure.”

He grabbed a hold of the glasses, and shifted them slightly. They still looked awkward, but at least they were back in place. They didn’t suit him., Geoff noticed as he dropped down to grab the container (hair dye?) from the floor.

“What are you talking about?” Geoff asked. Ryan just shook his head, and squeezed the small plastic container until a mound of blonde hair dye poured out onto his hand. He ran it through the black part of his hair, quickly and desperately. “What’s going on, Ryan?”

“Not Ryan. James. I’m James. Dead beat James.” Ryan muttered. His entire head was beginning to warp into that weird, off-yellow color. The hair dye was not as effective as it should have been, at turning him blonde.

“What’s wrong with you?” He had known that Ryan was crazy, before, but it wasn’t this bad, usually. What had happened in the few days since they had last talked? It was starting to look like Ryan really had cracked, since then.

Ryan grabbed hold of the phone on the counter, and threw it at Geoff. He caught it, with an instinctive reflex. Ryan barely even glanced at him, before he went back to lathering his hair with that stuff.

“Password is 4653.” Ryan reported. Geoff powered the phone, and quickly inputed the code. It opened up to a text message from a person named ‘Civ’, saying that either ‘James’ had to come over, or they would go to him.

“Civ?”

“Civilian. That’s my mom, Geoff.” There was a drawl in his voice, that Geoff hadn’t noticed, before. A southern disposition, that definitely hadn’t been there before. It sounded oddly ordinary coming off of Ryan’s tongue. Geoff knew that Ryan was from the south, but that was just unexpected. Ryan didn’t ordinarily flaunt his personal life much, and his birth region was something that was personal to him.

Of course, it was at that moment that Jack found them. When she walked in, she visibly relaxed at seeing Ryan. Her shoulders untensed, and she let out a relieved sigh. Then, they went back to being tensed immediately after.

“What happened?” She asked, concern slipping into her voice. Geoff was almost annoyed at the fact that she had recognized Ryan so quickly. It had taken him much longer than it had taken her, and that was after he had shoved an already-scared Ryan against the wall.

“I think Ryan’s parents want him to come over?” The situation didn’t make sense, and he wanted to make that as clear as possible to Jack. It was completely ridiculous. What was the big deal? Yeah, it sucked that they came, sometimes, but it wasn’t that bad.

“They think I’m an IT guy. I’m not supposed to be a merc. They think I’m a deadbeat. I’m supposed to be a deadbeat!” The accent was slowly getting more pronounced, and any visage of his ordinary drawl was quickly fading away.

“So why are you-” Geoff began, waving his hand to Ryan’s direction. To the weird color that he was making his hair.

“It’s already dyed. I need to go back to normal. But I can’t get it normal, ‘cause it’s already dyed,” Ryan explained. He was still running his now yellow hands through his hair, trying to smother the dye even further down. “So, I’m redoing it.”

Jack knelt down, and grabbed the bottle out of his hands. Ryan let her, and only let out a pathetic sigh, in response. 

“Calm down. You’re fine. We’ll help you, Ry-bread. I promise.” She squeezed a portion of the canister into her palm, and ran it through his hair. She ran over the thin patches that he missed, drenching it in that weird color. 

Geoff was pretty sure that they weren’t supposed to be mixing hair dyes. Maybe that was what was making it look so strange.

Ryan tensed, from the closeness. He was someone that valued his privacy above all else. Jack being that close to him was definitely making him uncomfortable.

They pretended that they didn’t hear the awkward “Thanks” that Ryan muttered.

“Why did she call you James?” Geoff asked, just to take Ryan’s mind off of the violation of his personal space, even if it was well-intended violation.

“That’s my name,” He admitted. Despite himself, Geoff was slightly offended by that. It wasn’t uncommon for the more known mercenaries to use aliases- it was the opposite, actually. Almost every criminal outside of the Fake AH Crew used aliases like their clients used drugs. It was just that Ryan had been an ally- a friend. It kind of felt weird to think that he had been holding out on that type of information. That he had felt endangered enough by the crew to hide his own name. That kind of hurt. “I prefer Ryan, though.”

He looked like he was starting to look a little more sure of himself, but Ryan could fake things well enough. Geoff didn’t really trust his judgement.

“So, why are you so worried about your parents coming here?” Jack asked, softly.

“They don’t know I’m a criminal. I have no alibi, and absolutely no chance of pulling this off. They’re supposed to think that I’m a deadbeat, not a mass murderer. I wanted to keep them safe by keeping this from them. I can’t just fuck them over.” The slight panic instantly slipped back into his voice. He was speaking too quickly, stumbling over his own words. While Geoff was used to the latter, he wasn’t very used to the panic.

“We’ll make you an alibi, if you want,” Jack offered. Ryan perked up, looking more than interested in that offer. “We have a few safe houses we can make into a little house for you.”

“Yeah, I don’t think the blood stained bedroom here is really gonna make the cut for you,” He still hadn’t cleaned it up from the Edgar incident. Geoff really needed to get Ryan a cleaning lady, or something. There was no way that he would ever get around to it. “I’m up for Jack’s idea, though.” 

“You would do that?”

“Yeah, sure. We can get the Lads to work on sprucing it up.” They would just have to tell them that there should be no explosives, and they should be fine. Hopefully.

“And I’ll get you a shirt that doesn’t have bullet holes in it,” Jack announced. There was no room for debate in her tone. “If you need someone there to cover for you, Geoff can pretend to be your boss. I could be there, too, if you want.”

“You should be his girlfriend.” Geoff offered, with only a slight edge of humor in his voice. If they had to pretend to be together, he was definitely going to film the entire scene. Neither of them were going to live that down. 

It was a good idea, though. One that they really should have been considering.

“Not a bad idea. What do you think, James?” The name sounded awkward coming off of Jack’s tongue. The idea of referring to Ryan by any other permanent non-codename name felt strange.

“I prefer Ryan,” Ryan said, with a slight air of hesitation.. Then, he paused to really consider his options. It was only a few seconds before he spoke, again. “But that could work. Thanks.”

“I’ll go call Matt and Jeremy. They’ll have a safe house prepped in no time flat.” Geoff promised. The two of them would wrangle the rest of the gang into helping, and it should be ready in less than an hour.

Meanwhile, Geoff had some plans to make.

\---

Ryan felt calmer than he had when Geoff had found him, so that was a positive. He was relaxed- not shaking as much as he usually did when he was panicked (which, looking back on it, was probably only about a handful of times since he had really joined the criminal lifestyle, and all of them had been around one of these two). He was actually feeling pretty confident about this.

He was wearing some shitty hand-me-down suit that Geoff had owned, way back in the day. Before he had ordered a thousand different copies of the same suit. It was slightly too small on Ryan, but it served its purpose well enough.

He had his hair dyed back into a somewhat normal color, for what it was supposed to be. Apparently mixing hair dyes wasn’t exactly a good idea. Jack had chastised him for that, once they had finished.

The safe house, which had turned out to be a warehouse with some modifications, was actually a pretty good fake apartment. Somehow, in the day that the Lads had had to spruce it up, they had installed walls, a bathroom, a kitchen, a living room, plumbing, and all the furniture necessary for a deadbeat IT guy. They put a little too much effort into it, to just be coworkers trying to keep him safe, but then, so had Geoff and Jack.

They were co-workers, but they were also friends. For the first time, he was really starting to understand that.

Because Jack had brought a dress, and had lathered makeup over her scars, and had washed all of the blood out of her clothes. Because Geoff had actually gotten a suit that was a little more pretentious as it usually was, and had covered up all of the bruises on his face. Because Matt and Jeremy had slaved over that house. Because the Lads had mocked him about it, but they had still helped.

Personally, he suited the part of deadbeat well enough that he might actually be able to convince them. The Gents had come up with a good enough lie to back it up. They might be able to pull this off.

Gavin had even offered to watch the whole thing, so that he could ensure that nothing went wrong. Ryan had instantly shot down that idea. If they noticed a camera anywhere, they would be suspicious, and he would be screwed. He couldn’t risk that. Not when he had spent 15 years of his life hiding this from them. That couldn’t happen.

Jack and Ryan were both currently waiting for Ryan’s parents to show their faces. Jack had a reassuring grin on her face, as they went over their plans.

They were going to welcome his parents, and introduce him to his absolutely normal (definitely-not-deadly) lifestyle. They would then get them out as quickly as humanly possible, before something could go horribly wrong, as it always tending to in their lives.

Geoff would show up, if anything went wrong. He could serve as a distraction, and could easily find a way to draw the two parents away. If necessary, he could probably keep them from coming back, too.

The second that it was done, Ryan was going to wash the dye out of his hair, and the mask was going back onto his face. He really hated this. He was out in the open, in a place with windows- maskless. Anyone could walk by and take a picture, and he would be screwed. 15 years of hiding himself- down the drain. All because two people that he hadn’t seen in 15 years were worried about the crime rate in Los Santos.

He must have spaced out, because suddenly Jack was prodding his arm, and asking him if he was okay. He nodded, and shook his worries out of his head. He could worry about that, later. If anyone got a picture of him, they wouldn’t live long enough to send it out.

\---

This was going to be harder than she thought.

“Mom, Dad, this is Jack. My,” Ryan sounded too hesitant- too awkward. This was too personal for him, and Jack could see that. This was like it had been with Edgar. Ryan didn’t deal with personal much, and when he did, he just would shut down, before he could try. Hopefully, that wouldn’t be the case, here. “Girlfriend.” He finished, in a droll tone.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you!” Jack said, with a wide smile on her face. This was less personal for her. The two people at the door were just strangers. Lying was easier, for her, than for him. The tables had turned, for once.

“You as well,” The tall man said. He was scanning his eyes over her, judging her without making it clear that he was. It had only been a few seconds since Jack had met him, and she already didn’t like him. “I hadn’t known that James had a girlfriend.”

“We’ve only known each other for about a year. We only really got together about three months ago.” In her experience, the best lie was often caked with truth. There was less room to mess it up, when it was at least slightly honest. And in that statement, there was honesty. Ryan had met her a year before. He had only really started to trust them after the Edgar incident.

“Really? Why didn’t you mention that?” The shorter woman said. There was a little more care in her voice, than there had been in the man’s. Jack already liked her more than the man.

“Oh, you know. It’s been busy. I haven’t really had time.” Ryan answered, still sounding slightly awkward. He had fully adopted that southern drawl, that she had heard earlier. Unlike what she had expected, it didn’t really suit him as much as his normal accent did.

Jack could understand why. The name James didn’t suit him, at all. She would be hesitant to respond to that, too.

“Do you want to come in?” Jack offered, out of politeness. As much as she would like to lock the door, and leave them standing out in the rain, she didn’t think that Ryan would be very pleased with that.

“Thank you.” The woman, who Jack still didn’t know the name of, said. The two parents slipped past Ryan and Jack, and into the safe house.

It was at that moment that Jack noticed Ryan’s jacket hanging on the coat rack. She had to hold herself back from cursing, as they walked further into the house.

Ryan’s jacket was pretty well known in Los Santos. When there were only two things that symbolized the Mad King, people clung to those things significantly. The sight of the mask, or the jacket, was usually a sign that something was amiss.

It was like Gavin’s sunglasses, or Ray’s hoodie, or Geoff’s moustache, or Michael’s own jacket. It was a symbol of the person, and it was as dangerous as they were.

And for some reason, Matt and Jeremy thought that it would be a good idea to put one in the house.

Ryan noticed it at the same time as she had. Luckily, he responded much faster than she did. Within seconds, he had his suit’s jacket off, and sprawled on top of the other. It didn’t completely cover it up- the jacket was too puffy to be hidden- but it worked well enough.

By some blind luck, Ryan’s parents either didn’t notice, or didn’t care. They just wandered into the living room, that looked a little too clean to be natural. Jack was going to have to talk with Matt and Jeremy later about how to perfectly fake a home. They needed a lot of practice with it, apparently.

Then again, she hadn’t noticed the issues herself, until the two of them had walked in. So maybe it was only her worry that was making it pronounced.

“So, how’s it been, since that model thing went under?” Ryan’s father asked. The statement was surrounded by judgement.

Was that another lie that Ryan had told? Because Jack had never heard a single thing about Ryan having a modeling career, and he usually joked about making up lies like that. She could see why he had hidden it, if it was actually true. He would have been openly mocked, on a daily basis, if they had known.

It was moments like that that reminded her of how little she actually knew about her friend. The only thing that she really knew about his life before the Fake AH Crew was that he had been in Shadles’s Crew, and had been forced to kill his friend. Meanwhile, she knew practically every detail about every other member of the Crew. It was a little disorienting to realize, when she had just helped to save his life, only a few months before.

She shoved those thoughts away, for the time being. She could deal with that later, when they weren’t in the middle of a mission.

“Pretty good. Moved here. Had to trade jobs a couple of times, but it worked out in the end. I like it in Los Santos. It’s nice.” Ryan was obviously adopting Jack’s strategy of half-lying. Lying was always so much harder when they knew the person that they were trying to lie to. Manipulation was just so much easier.

“What’s there to like? You’re living in a shitty crime-ridden hellhole,” To Ryan’s credit, he didn’t react to that. “Telling people to turn their computers on and off. Have you even paid back your loans, yet?”  
Loans? Had Ryan gone to college?

“I like hellhole, sometimes,” He sounded defensive, and Jack was tempted to find a way to shut him up. He was awkward only a few seconds, before. Maybe that was better than aggressive, for him. “And yes. I paid my loans. Crime-ridden pays well.”

He was really being obvious, and Jack had no idea what had changed. She squeezed his hand, and he shot her a confused glance. He obviously didn’t see what was going wrong, here. Knowing him, this was probably perfectly average behavior. Goddammit.

“What does that mean?” His mother asked.

Jack pressed down on the phone in her pocket. The prewritten message instantly sent to the contact that she constantly had speed dialed, who had affectionately been named “Dick.”

There was a key in the door, before Ryan could respond. Jack nodded at him- a signal of who was coming. The door was open before they could blink.

Geoff stood outside, soaking wet, in one of his patented suits, sporting his famed mustache and grinning a tiny smirk. If they didn’t recognize him, Ryan was the luckiest person on the face of the earth.

“Hello, I’m Geoff. I’m a /very good friend of Jack and Ryans,” He hesitated for a second, obviously coming up with a quick lie. Usually someone having a key to someone elses house had an explanation. “I also housesit a lot.”

Next to her, there was a silent groan as Ryan processed exactly what Geoff had just said. Even the mustached boss paused, as he realized how stupid a lie that was. 

In over 20 years, Jack had never heard as stupid an excuse from anyone. She would have to congratulate him for that, later. That was really an honorable distinction.

“That’s nice.” Ryan’s mother said, with more awkwardness than Jack had ever seen a person have. It fit the situation well.

“Why are you here, now, then?” Ryan’s father asked.

There was another moment of hesitation, before Geoff just shrugged.

“I didn’t know that he’d have company over.”

So maybe asking Geoff to come deal with the situation was the worst idea possible. Maybe Jack should have realized that, before she had pressed the panic button. Maybe she should have asked Ray to play the situation diffuser instead, because Geoff was not doing a great job. He was giving the worst excuses possible, and was just making this even worse.

“You know, I think Geoff, Ryan, and I should go grab some drinks. In the meantime, we have cable, if you want. Do either of you want anything to drink?” Neither of her boys argued with her, and, without any hesitation, walked to the kitchen. Good.

Jack received a “Whiskey” from one of them and a “No, thank you” from the other. She thanked her lucky stars for Geoff being a drunk, who needed whiskey in every one of the safe houses, because otherwise she probably would have had to turn down Ryan’s father. He was already in a bad enough mood. She didn’t need to make that any worse.

When she walked into the kitchen, Ryan was pacing around, nervously running a hand through his hair. That alone spelled out bad news for their futures. The dye was going to take ages to wash out of his skin.

Geoff gave her a small, reassuring smile as soon as she set her eyes on him. As if that would get him out of trouble.

“So, I may have fucked up a little.”

“You housesit!” Ryan hissed, sounding a little more panicked than was absolutely necessary.

“Look, we’ll take care of it. Nothing is going to happen, if we just calm down.” Jack tried to assure him.

In another life, it worked. Ryan calmed down, and Geoff decided to stop being an asshole. Jack was able to calm the situation, and Ryan’s parents walked away with grins on their faces, and drinks in their hands.

In their life, however, it didn’t work that way.

At the sound of the first scream, Ryan already had knives in his hands. He had ripped them out of one of the drawers, before the others had a chance to react, and had instantly begun stalking into the other room. He didn’t spare a glance at the two other criminals in the room. It was the quickest reaction time that they had seen him have, in the year that they had known him.

“Shit.” She heard Geoff mutter, before he followed Ryan’s lead.

This was bad. They had no weapons, no defenses, and absolutely no plan. They had assumed that, just because it was a safe house, they would be fine. Jack was starting to realize exactly how stupid that was.

She grabbed one of the knives, and crept out of the room.

She prepared herself for a horrible scene. For pools of blood, and men in masks, and Ryan forcing pools of blood out of men in masks. She expected something like she saw almost every day of her life. A crime scene.

Instead, there was Ryan’s father, holding a switchblade in Ryan’s direction, while Ryan’s mother was screaming behind him. She was staring at the television screen, and looked as if she was in absolute agony.

Jack felt a twinge of sympathy, when she noticed what was on screen. There were the Lads, running across the street, with Ryan not so far behind them. They were all in traditional heist garbs. Michael had his jacket. Gavin had his yellow outfit, that he had kept from the failed fireman heist. Ray had his purple hoodie. Ryan was supposed to have his mask.

Except, his mask wasn’t on. A car had plowed into him, and the plastic shield had slipped off of his face. A face, marred with a mound of paint, stared at the camera for a second, before he raised his gun and shot at it.

The scene was playing on repeat, for all to see.

Jack could remember what had happened after that. Ryan had dived into their chopper, and had ripped off his jacket as quickly as was humanly possible. It had covered his face before any of them could really get a good look at it. He had sat, hidden in the back of the cargobob, for the duration of their flight, completely blind to the world.

Later, he had walked into the main safe house sporting a new mask, and no one questioned where he had gotten it from.

“You’re that guy from the news! You’re a murderer!” Ryan’s father yelled. He was waving his knife, absolutely panicked.

Ryan had an absolutely destroyed expression on his face. The blind panic from earlier was back, and attacking in full force. He was breathing heavily, and looked as distraught as he had been the first day that Jack had ever met him. When he had been leaning against the wall to their apartment, having a full fledged panic attack in front of his then-enemy. It was not a sight that Jack had ever wanted to see, again.

“Calm down.” Jack warned him. 

The knife instantly flicked to her direction, as Ryan’s father directed his attention to her.

“You’re that Pattillo bitch, aren’t you?” The knife flicked to Geoff, next. “And you’re Geoff Ramsey! You’re the Fake AH Crew! My son’s in the Fake AH Crew.”

The man sounded like he was going to be sick, and he didn’t look any better. Especially when his wife was still screaming from behind him.

“Calm down, Mr. Haywood.” Jack repeated. This time, there was a dangerous level of threat in her voice. Most people that called her a bitch didn’t survive the night. If Ryan didn’t care about him, he would have already had a bullet in his brain.

“No! You got him into this! You-” The man cut himself off, by lunging towards Jack. His feet were unsteady, shaky, but he had the advantage of surprise. It was the only advantage that he had. Jack definitely didn’t expect a scrawny old man to try to attack her.

It wouldn’t have helped, even if it had worked.

Even so, he was stopped, as Ryan’s hand grabbed a hold of his wrist, before he could get anywhere near her. Ryan had moved quickly, had struck the second that his father had moved. He wasn’t going to let either of them get hurt.

“They didn’t get me into this shit,” Ryan said. His voice was low, and sounded much more like the Mad King than the scared southerner that he had been before. “That was Shadles. Edgar.”

That seemed to scare the man even more. The Fake AH Crew might have been an infamous name in Los Santos, but Shadles’ Crew was infamous across the country. Of the top ten most wanted in America, seven spots had been taken up by the members of his crew. Even civilians knew how dangerous the man had been, before his death. Everyone knew it.

Ryan’s grip on his father’s wrist was hard enough to turn his knuckles white. The man was straining, doing his best to break free, but there would be no relenting. His son wasn’t there, for now. Instead, there was the Mad King- the Vagabond, and he was terrifying.

“I’ve been with these guys for a year. Edgar had me for 13. He got me into this shit. Don’t blame them,” His words were slower- calculated. If Jack had been criticising him based on his carefulness earlier, it had returned ten fold. Only this time, it was good. “Do you understand me?”

It took only a slight nod for Ryan to release his hold. The other man pulled away, still clutching onto his small knife, as the greatest form of defense that he had. Ryan’s mother was still screaming, maybe even louder, now that her suspicions had been proven.

“Christ, Ry.” Geoff muttered, in that same awed tone that he usually had, whenever Ryan did something horrible. This time, there was nothing funny about it. They had failed Ryan completely. This was their fault.

“If you report this to anyone, I promise you that it won’t be a random going after you. Do you understand?” Again, there was only that same terrified nod. Ryan stepped to the side, and glanced at the door. “Then go.”

They were gone, before Ryan could say another word.

\---

Ryan hadn’t been seen in over three days. That was how long it had been, since their mission had so spectacularly failed. Since he had been forced to drive his family out of his life, entirely. Since he had watched his friends fail him, again.

Jack felt every ounce of guilt that she felt she could, for that. It was her fault, wasn’t it? She had been the one to tell them to turn on the TV. If she hadn’t done that, everything would have been fine. The mission would have been successful. Ryan could continue his ploy, and they could go back to their daily lives.

Jack had apologized the second that the two of them had left, but Ryan didn’t listen. He had just shaken his head, and stabbed his knife into the wall. He left the room, without a word, and they didn’t see him for the rest of the day. Or the next few.

Jack didn’t blame him for that.

She didn’t try to call him. He probably needed his space. After all, he had just placed his trust in them, for the first time since he had had a panic attack by Jack’s door, and they had failed him. They had done so badly, and they had betrayed everything that they had promised him. It was entirely their fault. He was probably furious.

It took him those three days to show up at their door again, with black dye staining his hands, and a skull mask hiding his face. He hadn’t knocked- had picked the lock, despite the fact that he owned a key. He barely spared a glance at them, as he quietly shut the door behind him.

He ripped the mask off of his face, and had dropped it to the floor, without his usual levels of care. His face was a mirad of color. From the black dye that was still dripping off of his hair, to the smudged face paint, to the crimson streaming from every direction, that didn’t seem to originate from anywhere. Jack could only guess at where that had come from.

There were heavy bags under his eyes, under layers of paint, and blood, and whatever else happened to be on his face. His eyes were blown to the point where the pupil had extended past the color of the contacts.

“Hi!” There was a wide grin on his face, that practically split it. It didn’t suit him.

“Ryan?” The confusion is Geoff’s voice would have been funny, in any other situation. Now, though, it was fitting.

“I like your moustache. It’s all swirly.” His voice was as slurred as he looked. He wasn’t focusing on anything, just jerking his eyes across the room- nothing holding his attention for more than half of a second.

“What happened?” Geoff asked, cautiously. “Are you hurt?”

“Me? Nah. I dealt with some stuff,” His eyes darted back to Geoff. “Your mustache is really cool.”

Jack had been working as a criminal for over a decade. She had been a dealer, a hitwoman, a thief, a tactician, and a boss. She had seen thousands of criminals flop and die before her, and she had seen a thousand more under the influence.

Ryan looked like every single one of them.

“Are you high?” Jack asked. 

Ryan’s grin (somehow) got even wider. He nodded, viciously- proudly.

“Yeah! ‘S Nice!” He sounded happier than he had ever been in their presence.

“What are you on?” Geoff demanded, with a level of annoyance. For a drug boss, he had always had strange rules about drugs. He often got personally offended whenever his friends actually tried any. “Who the hell gave it to you?”

“I think it’s acid. Ray wouldn’t give, but Kdin did. Good dude, Kdin. Ray’s not, though. Ray sucks.” He made a face akin to disgust.

So Ray had known exactly what Ryan was doing, and had stopped him, but hadn’t called to tell them? Jack was going to have to both thank him, and yell at him, later.

Kdin, on the other hand, was going to die. A slow and painful death.

“How much did you take?” Geoff asked. His annoyance was starting to overtake his caution.

Jack could understand that. They had specifically told the Crew that they weren’t supposed to drug each other, or to take drugs themselves. They were all supposed to be in the best possible shape. They weren’t supposed to be incapacitated. Incapacitation was too much of a risk. Was that so hard to understand?

She definitely wasn’t only going to yell at Kdin. Ryan was also going to get a piece of her mind, when he was in a more sober state. For now, they were going to have to humor him.

Jack had dealt with enough users to know what to do with one, while they were on a high.

“Just a tab. Should have taken more. Would have been cooler! ‘S still good.” The drugged mercenary slurred.

“Have you ever done something like this, before?” Jack asked.

“Nah. Should have, but nah.”

While that was slightly reassuring, since it meant that Ryan wasn’t addicted to anything, it was also slightly depressing. Because if he hadn’t done it in his life, the fact that their failure had led him to it was horrible.

Ryan was someone who liked to be in control of himself. Complete and utter control. The fact that they could disappoint him to the point where he would throw that away was just disturbing.

“Kinda want to do it again, though. This is fun!” The pure excitement in his voice was worse.

“Jack, call Kdin. I’ll try to sober him up, or something.” Geoff muttered.

“It’s acid. You can’t really sober up from it, until it wears off. That’s probably why he chose it.”

“It was! Eight to twelve hours works wonders on the psyche. It’s great!”

The annoyance on Geoff’s face was more dangerous than it was funny. Geoff never did deal with users well, especially when he knew them, personally. It was a problem that he had always had with Ray. Jack needed to calm him down, or he was going to crack.

“Look, you can call Kdin. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

Geoff nodded, and let out a light sigh. He was out the door, before Ryan could complain about the “swirly mustache” disappearing. Which was probably good for Geoff’s sanity levels.

It took exactly fifteen seconds for Ryan to forget that Geoff had ever even been there. It took another five for him to discover the window, and another one for him to be half-hanging out of it, to stare at the apartment next door.

It took all of the force in Jack’s body to pull him back in, before anyone could see him. She wasn’t going to let anyone see his face, even if she was a little annoyed at him for this. She was still his friend, and she still had to protect him.

This was her fault, after all. This wouldn’t have happened, if she had just left him to deal with his family on his own. She owed it to him, to protect him in the fallout.

“So, how long ago did you take the tab, Ry?” She asked, with a lighter tone than the one that she had used earlier.

Acid was supposed to take eight hours to wear off. She really hoped that he was late into that.

Ryan froze, his face scrunching as he attempted to remember the answer to that. Eventually, he just shrugged.

“Dunno. Time’s kinda wonky. I dealt with some shit, cause someone talked, you know? And then it kicked in, and then I was here. Don’t really know what happened in between.”

“Great.” Jack said, with sarcasm laced in her tone. The sarcasm was for more reasons than one.

“It is, right?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing high!Ryan was a lot harder than I thought it would be, but it was fun as hell! It was also fun to write everyone else’s reactions to him.
> 
> In other news, bad news, guys. Updates may start being a little irregular, bc family issues. I’ll try to get them back in order, but it may start becoming a major issue later. That’s the reason it was a late update this week. Kind of had to rush to get this out as quickly as possible.


	6. Prank War part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin's been getting on everyone's nerves lately...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place ~5 years after Ryan joins the crew and ~4 years after WWYD. ~9 years since Gavin joined.  
> This is gonna be fun...

It all started during one of their successful heists. Ray was laying flat on his stomach, on the top of the bank that they were stealing from. He had barely looked up from the scope since the mission had begun, twenty minutes ago. He had just kept firing to the streets below- kept luring the LSPD into their deaths.

This was the best part of a heist. When he could just ignore the resounding arguments in his ear, and he could just line up the shot and take it. He didn’t have to worry about consequences or anything other than the wind direction. He could just snipe, and he would be done with it. It was the best part of his day, when he could snipe.

He liked to fire randomly, to keep them from recognizing a pattern. To keep them from locating him. One bullet might hit an officer by the bank. One might hit one that was fifty feet away. One might shoot out the tire of a car. The next might find itself in the chief of police’s skull. All of them might come one after another, within the space of a few seconds.

Ray was that good.

Sniping was always a fun activity for him. He could show everyone just how awesome he actually was. Who else in the Fake AH Crew could shoot someone’s hat off from 200 feet away? No one. It was why he and Ryan usually had missions alone. They were the only ones who could ever be stealthy.

And Ryan wasn’t a sniper, so he was the best in the Crew. He was irreplaceable.

The only one who even came close to matching his skill level was Michael, and that was only because the man had trained him. Had spent weeks showing him every little trick of the trade, from where to hide to which sight to use. It hadn’t taken long before Ray had surpassed his skill, though. Once he had done that, there was no way for Michael to even try to beat him in a snipe-off. Ray would beat him with flying colors.

The moment that the war started, the heist had finally reached that boring phase. They had reached the impasse where all of the police officers were either on the ground or dead. The backup was still racing to meet them, but they would be gone before then. Ray’s job was done. He just had to wait for Jack to fly over to pick him up.

Ray always hated this phase of the heist. Hated the way that everyone else could still have their fun, while he just had to sit there and wait. Had to sit there and watch the two robbers make their way out of the bank, and towards the armored car that was waiting for them by the exit.

The last interesting moment of a heist came moments later, as Michael announced that the bombs were ready. Geoff told him to blow them. Then Ray had laughed and let out a quiet “No, blow me.”

An explosion rang through his ears, followed by the yell of excitement from the comms. He watched, through his scope, as a line of police cars ignited and soared into the sky. The entire street, that was only a few blocks away, was slowly disappearing under the gigantic cloud of smoke that Michael’s bombs had released.

“That was awesome!” The excited bomber exclaimed, as soon as the street had stopped exploding. It was only a few seconds later that the blackened shells of police cars came crashing back down on the craters that existed where street had once been.

“Good job, Mogar,” Geoff’s voice rang through his ear, with as much force as the explosions had. He really had to turn his comm down. “Beardo, we’re about to move out.”

He watched as Ryan obviously took that as a cue to get on his bike. The masked man sped off, without another look behind him.

Ray didn’t blame him. With the cops being gone, it was obvious that they both weren’t needed. Covering fire wasn’t useful, when there was nothing to cover them from.

Or was there?

A mischievous grin formed on Ray’s face, as he watched Gavin stumble to the floor. Geoff’s screaming encouraged him, even if the man didn’t know it. But really, did Ray even need encouraging, when it came to tormenting Gavin?

He lined up the first shot, and he pulled the trigger.

Gavin let out a terrified shriek, as the bullet soared past his arm. He jerked away, and glanced around at the surrounding area for any threats. He didn’t find any.

“What the-” Gavin began, but was cut off by another shot. This one slammed right next to his foot. He screamed, and ducked away from it.

“What’s going on?” Geoff asked, barely hidden concern slipping into voice. Gavin just let out another shriek in response, when another bullet slipped past his face.

“I’m just making Vav dance.” Ray responded. He took aim, again, and fired.

Michael let out a loud laugh, as Gavin screamed, again. It wasn’t surprising that he would be the one to encourage Ray, when he was shooting at their teammate's head.  He had always been the reckless type.

“Ray!” Gavin (who really was a good dancer. Ray hadn’t realized that) screamed. “No! Don’t be a mong!”

Ray only let out a light chuckle, and another shot in response.

It took only a minute between when Ray started firing and Gavin ducking his way into their getaway car, but it was the fastest minute that had taken place in the entire heist. Annoying Gavin was fun! He had to do that again!

He was almost disappointed that Gavin stayed in the plane for their next heist.

* * *

Gavin was annoying. Even for the Fake AH Crew, compiled of idiots who liked to screw each other over on a daily basis, Gavin was annoying. His habits- hacking everything that anyone owned, and programming it to scream “Eat my knob” whenever they opened a new tab- had been irritating all of them for years.

Even Geoff, who was usually apathetic to his attempts at annoyance was getting fed up with him. Gavin was a bastard, when he had a computer. He was a stupid bastard who thought that he could do anything.

Even if he could- it didn’t matter. Because Geoff wanted to stop that. Wanted to put the other man in his place.

So he took Ray’s cue, and set up a plan. A brilliant plan, that couldn’t possibly fail. All that he needed was tape and a lockpick, and Gavin would be the most frustrated man in existence.

It took three hours to give up on looking for tape in their safe house. For some stupid reason, one of the most powerful gangs in Los Santos didn’t possess a single roll of clear tape. Geoff needed to right that at their next meeting.

There was mounds of duct tape- the type that Jack had used to repair Ryan’s bike (and they really needed to find a safer way to fix that), but there was not any clear brands. Not the type that Geoff needed if he wanted to really piss Gavin off. Duct tape came off too easily, in this case. It was too visible. Geoff needed inconspicuous.

Four hours after the formation of his idea, Geoff had gotten his hands on normal tape. It had only taken a question, a quick ride to a store, a very quick theft, and a very amused Michael to do it.

He recruited Ryan for the mission, without a problem. If there were anyone in the Crew that enjoyed pranks, it was the Lads and Ryan. It wasn’t exactly hard to get them to help him. Especially when it was about getting back at Gavin.

Ryan picked the lock to Gavin’s door, without complaint. The man actually had a grin on his creepy, scarred up, painted face, as he did it.

“How do you think Gav’s going to take it?” He asked.

“It’s Gavin!” Geoff stressed the name, heavily. Gavin didn’t take anything well. How did Ryan not know that, by now?

Ryan tilted his head, thinking it over for a second, before his grin got a little wider. He nodded once, and backed away from the door.

“Make sure that he doesn’t know that I was involved.” The assassin demanded, before he walked away.

* * *

Frustrated screaming informed Geoff that, yes, his plan had worked. Gavin was genuinely annoyed by the tape on the bottom of his mouse.

Now, all he had to do was wait and see exactly how long it would take for Gavin to realize the problem, and it’s cause.

He was willing to bet that it would take Gavin over an hour.

* * *

It did.

* * *

Geoff’s prank, and Ray’s sniping were only the beginning. The pranking of Gavin was not going to ease up, anytime soon. Not until they all had their chance to annoy their friend.

Michael was determined not to be the last to do it. He and Gavin might have been Team Nice Dynamite, but that didn’t render Gavin impervious to betrayal. Michael had to, or the rest of the crew would turn on him, next! He had been in the crew for years. He knew how they ran. The last to prank someone was always the next to get pranked. Michael was going to hold that off for as long as he possibly could.

He pondered over his plan for a while. Should he scare Gavin? Pop up in front of him while he was sleeping, and just scream? Should he pour wet bread in Gavin’s lunch, without telling him? That would be funny.

It was a little hard for him to come up with a fitting plan, because he wasn’t as variously skilled as the rest of the crew. He didn’t have skills that could really be attributed to pranks.

Ryan was a tank and a spy. He could be loud or silent, and could change it in a second. That would work for scaring people.

Ray was a sniper and a dealer. His pure skill at sniping was the only reason that he could have made Gavin dance like that.

Jack was a pilot and a mechanic. She could whip something up to mess with Gavin in a heartbeat!

Geoff was a tactician (by his definition, alone) and a mob boss. He had the whole of Los Santos under his thumb. A thousand minions to do his will. A thousand minions to buy a whoopie cushion.

Even Gavin had his hacking skills.

Michael was just a demolitions expert. There was no other skill that he had that was amazing enough to really go at Gavin with. He wanted- he needed- to make this good, or the Crew would just laugh at the failure, and turn on him, next.

He really didn’t want to be the recipient of a prank war. He didn’t need that in his life.

He needed to come up with something to do with his explosives. Something that wouldn’t maim Gavin (much), but would be enough to terrify him to the point where he would piss his pants. So it needed to be a small thing, with minimal actual explosives. Like the type of pop from rice krispies.

That was perfect!

* * *

There were tiny, circular balls, that had just enough explosive powers to sting, but not enough to hurt or kill anyone. He was positive of that- had even gone through multiple models to ensure that they worked perfectly. Ryan had been kind enough to let him test them on his newest ‘informant’, so he was positive that it wouldn’t really maim Gavin )even if the first batch had grievously harmed the ‘informant’). After that, it had worked well enough. Gavin would been fine

He had left a Mini in every beer bottle that Gavin owned, which was a significant number, that was a lot larger than Michael thought that it would be. The Mini’s would probably haunt him for months, if Michael let them (and he would).

Because the second that a bottle was opened, the Mini would ignite. It would shoot most of the liquid out of the bottle, and it would all hit Gavin in the face. The idiot probably wouldn’t even understand what had caused that, until Michael was laughing on the floor.

The first time that it had happened, Gavin had popped the cap on the bottle, and had instantly received a face full of booze. He had let out his patented squeal, as he was absolutely drenched by the sheer amount of beer flinging at his face.

It had only taken a quick shower, a change of clothes, and a bout of laughter at his expense for him to grab another bottle.

He obviously didn’t learn his lesson, because he had tried five more beers, before he took one of Geoff’s.

* * *

Jack was a pilot. She was an experienced pilot, who had been flying since she was in her late teens, and she loved it. Loved every second of being in the air. Loved the thrill of it. Loved the feel of wind flying through her hair, when she jumped out. Loved the feeling of being the only one in the crew who was allowed in a jet, after the incident involving her own heist. Loved the feeling of being in a jet.

Jack was the best pilot in the Fake AH Crew, and it was a title that she had maintained since Geoff had first mentioned the idea of making a crew. So what if she couldn’t land a titan on a mountain? Gavin’s mountain had been less steep than hers. It wasn’t her fault! She was still the best of the crew, and had proved that by landing a plane in the middle of a highway during her heist. She’d like to see Gavin do that.

Still, Gavin was so smug about that titan incident. He had never stopped making fun of her for the failure, and, honestly, it got on her nerves, sometimes. She loved Gavin, like a little brother, but he was an annoying bastard.

She had to get back at him for that. It was her solemn duty.

What better time was there to do that, than during the Great Gavin Pranking of the Fake AH Crew?

She had formulated her plan the second that Geoff had announced his own. He had grinned at her, and had promised to help her, if she helped him find a roll of tape. She had instructed him to go to the store down the corner.

Now, here she was, piloting a helicopter a mile away from the newest heist, while Gavin was in the back, typing away at his laptop. It was the perfect time for her to strike.

“Gavin, we’re nearing the store. Get your parachute on.” Jack ordered.

Gavin sighed, and shut the laptop down. He pushed it between the seats, ensuring that it would be safe once he was gone. Once he was done with that, he grabbed the parachute off of the floor, and slipped it over his shoulders.

“I just hope I don’t get sick from this. I haven’t done this before, Jack. Parachuting.” There was a disgusted look on his face, as he spat out the word. He obviously wasn’t a fan of jumping out of planes. Hopefully, this would make that fear so much worse.

“You’ll be fine, Gav. Jump on three, okay?” She forced a comforting smile on her face. The younger man nodded, and grabbed the straps running down from the bag. He swallowed, nervously, as he stared at the ground below him.

“Jack, this doesn’t look like the place Geoff showed us.” There was fear in his voice, and Jack found it kind of funny.

It was a four person heist, anyway. The Crew hadn’t needed them, from the start. Thankfully, Jack had made that deal with Geoff, so she could do whatever she wanted, now.

“Everything looks different from above. We’re fine.” Jack promised, slipping into her best caring sisterly tone. “You’re going to drop in a second or two. I’m just slowing down a little.”

“Thanks. I’m just worried you’re going to ‘prank’ me, or whatever the rest of them are doing. It sucks a lot, Jack. They’re pricks.” He sounded bitter, and Jack only found that even funnier. Gavin had been ‘pranking’ them for ages. It was nice to get a little payback, once in a while.

“I wouldn’t do that, Gav. I promise,” Jack said. She glanced behind her chair, and saw Gavin practically hanging out of the door. He looked pale. While Jack kind of wanted to take a picture, she also knew that they would miss their destination, if she didn’t send him off, soon. “Aim for that little building, on three,” She pointed to the small building, with the large yard in the back. Gavin nodded, hesitantly. “One, two- Three!”

Gavin jumped.

Jack let out the most well concealed laugh in history, and looked for somewhere to land the chopper. She needed to see this, personally.

* * *

“I hate you all!” Gavin screamed, through the comms. There was a distant sound of squaking, as all of the birds at the veterinary office attacked him. As it turned out, landing feet first on a chicken didn’t make them happy with him.

The screaming soon got louder, as (what Jack assumed were) cats attacked the terrified Brit.

The rest of the Crew was laughing, even through their heist, at his misfortune. Jack grinned, and climbed back into the chopper. She needed to pick them up, soon. Maybe Gavin, too, if he was lucky.

* * *

The Crew, minus Gavin, had settled down in Geoff’s penthouse, after Jack’s prank. Gavin had gone home, with a few angry curses and a few complaints, to wash the feathers out of his hair, and the blood where various cats had scratched him. His face had been the expression of pure fury, as he had stormed away from them- fists shaking with rage.

They had ignored his anger- too busy counting up the money to actually bother to care about whether he was frustrated or not. Gavin had tormented them for years. He deserved it more than anyone else.

Maybe Michael also deserved it, but who was Ryan to complain? He hadn’t even taken the opportunity to commit a prank, yet. He was officially the last member of the Crew not to. The others seem to have noticed that, too.

“So, Ryan,” Geoff said, with a smile. “When are you going after Gav?”

“Yeah, you got something planned, or what?” Michael cut in. The bomber raised his eyebrows, questionably, and he also had that mischievous smile on their face. Out of all of them, Michael had spent the most time with Gavin, and he wanted the man to get exactly what was coming to him. Everything that had been coming to the man for years.

“Don’t know,” Ryan answered, honestly. He was still thinking about whether or not he should get involved. Or whether or not he should side with Gavin. Team Love ‘n Stuff had been in full effect, lately. He might want to help him out, instead of further tormenting him. “I have something in the works, though.”

“What’s up?” Ray asked, finally looking away from his 3DS. He had finally gotten his hands on the newest pokemans game, and he hadn’t put it away, since. Ryan was really starting to get concerned about his health, from the amount of time he had spent playing.

“Ryan’s planning a prank,” Michael answered. He raised his voice to a higher pitch, and continued. “Our little psychopath’s becoming a man!”

Ryan rolled his eyes, as Ray practically beamed at him. The sniper was obviously happy to hear that.

“Ryan the prankster guy? Hell yeah, I want to see that!”

So, even without Ryan deciding it himself, he was forced into the life of a prankster.

At least the next victim wouldn’t be him.

* * *

The rewiring was difficult (and mostly based off of Google searches), but it was supposed to be effective. At first Ryan was worried about what would happen if Gavin wandered in as he was setting it up, but all it had taken was Geoff taking Gavin off to a bar, and Ryan had all of the time in the world.

Meanwhile, the whole time Michael had sat behind him, pokemaning with Ray. They both had two different versions of the same game (why, Ryan had no idea), and were both attempting to go through the game at the same time, to show the other all of the differences between versions. Apparently that made it so that both didn’t have to beat both campaigns.

Ryan had pointed out that they could just read the other plot off of wikipedia, and he had been quickly shut down by Ray. Apparently, he didn’t understand.

Sometimes Ryan was really happy that he hadn’t been a civilian for over 15 years. It meant that he hadn’t been introduced to games like that. He had maintained his integrity by ignoring them, entirely.

Things like Digimon, however, were completely different, and that was something that needed to be understood. Civilians and criminals, alike, could watch that show.

Looking back at Gavin’s computer, he crossed the wires between the ‘M’ key and the shutdown button, as easily as someone without any wiring experience could (read: not easily, at all). He screwed the keyboard back together, and flipped the keyboard back to the way it was supposed to face.

“Okay,” Ryan announced, finally regaining the Lads’ attention. “Let’s see if this works.”

He tapped the rewired key, and the screen went dark. He tapped it again, and it lit up, again, requesting a password.  Ryan tapped the shutdown button, and the letter ‘M’ appeared in the password prompt.

“Ryan the programming guy!” Michael said, excitedly.

“When I prank someone, I make him dance. Ryan just shits on his life.”

* * *

Gavin had come back at three in the morning, drunk off of his ass, and had stumbled into the bathroom without a word. He had looked particularly green, as he fell to the tiled floor, and stuck his head into the toilet. After a few moments of pure retching, he had crawled back out- face still strewn with vomit. He hadn’t made any sort of effort to wipe it off.

To anyone else, that would have been disgusting. To Ryan, it was nothing. He had seen much more disgusting bodily fluid on people’s faces in his lifetime.

Ryan had been on watch at the time, and was slightly relieved when Gavin had shown up. The day was about to get more interesting.

That was a good thing about Gavin. He always managed to make things interesting. It was the one quality that he and Ryan shared. They were both reckless bastards.

He had barely held back the forming grin on his face. This would only make the prank better. An ordinary computer genius Gavin getting flustered by computers? Amusing. A drunk computer genius Gavin getting flustered by computers? Mind blowing.

“Hi, Ryan,” He greeted, with a wave. Ryan returned it, hesitantly. Gavin let out a chuckle that sounded more like him spitting than a laugh. “You’re dumb, Ry.”

“Thanks, Gavin.”

“I gotta-” He let out another awkward gurgling sound. “I gotta- Geoff says I gotta hack. I’m gonna hack.”

“Who are you going to hack, Gav?” After all, Gavin needed a plan if he was going to get really frustrated. He would just shrug it off if he didn’t have a mission. Ryan needed to maximise his annoyance.

Gavin paused, and considered that for a few seconds. He obviously didn’t have much of a plan. Geoff had probably just told him to go do something to get him away from him. “Gonna hack Shadles.”

“Shadles is dead.”

Gavin froze like a deer in headlights, and paled a little. All traces of drunk Gavin slipped away for a few seconds, and a scared looking sober Gavin stared at him. Then, sober Gavin was gone and drunk Gavin was back.

“Yeah. Gonna hack Michael. Michael bombed my bevs. I’m gonna make take his files and make them porn. Or- or malware! I’ll give him malware! Or you can have malware. I dunno, Ryan. I think it’d be funny if you had malware!” Gavin let out another disgusting gurgling laugh.

That was suspicious, but Ryan let it slide, for now. He would bring it up later, when Gavin was a little more sober. Drunk Gavin didn’t know as many details as sober Gavin. He might say something wrong, or give out fake information. Ryan needed to ask sober Gavin, if he wanted to be sure.

“What’d I do to you?” He asked, instead.

“You’re Ryan. Lovely Ryan. It’d be funny. You having malware would be awesome! Your computer would suck knobs! The data would go all gammy, and you’d go all pissy!” He said it with such an innocent infliction that it took Ryan a few seconds to process its real meaning. That was a dick move. Ryan hadn’t even pranked him yet!

At least, not that Gavin knew of.

“Fine, go hack me.”

Gavin grinned at him, and stumbled back into his room.

Ryan grinned back, as soon as the frustrated screams of “It’s not working!” and “It shut down! What?” started. Frustrated Gavin was always the best Gavin.

* * *

Gavin was done! Gavin was so freaking done- finished- end game- finito. He was sick of being on the losing side of this stupid prank war. Sick of it being 5v1. He wanted it to be done, here and now! He was sick of checking for rips in his parachute. Sick of throwing a rock into his room, to make sure that he didn’t explode from stepping into it. Sick of wearing extra thick Kevlar on a heist, or just in his everyday life. He was absolutely sick of all of this!

So Gavin accessed all of their important systems. Jack and Geoff’s computers. Ryans ipad. Michael’s phone. Ray’s DS. So what if he changed Geoff’s screen saver to “Gavin Rules- Geoff’s Sucks.” So what if he changed Michael’s ringtone to the sound of some bird screaming? So what if he wiped Ryans files? So what if he let go off all of Ray’s level 100’s in Omega Sapphire? So what if he copied all of Jack’s files onto a flashdrive, deleted them, and hid them under Jack’s bed? So bloody what?

The other five crew members hadn’t been so apathetic to it.

Ryan had been furious. Had practically cracked Gavin’s head against the wall, in his rage. Apparently the files that he kept on his computer had been important facts about missions that he was still running, and was only taking a short break from, and Gavin had completely ruined two covert operations.

Ray had practically punched him in the head, and had pointed out that two of them had been legendary! He had used his master ball on one of them! Now what was he supposed to do?

Michael hadn’t really cared as much as the others, but he had still complained about Team Nice Dynamite.

Geoff had also not really cared, but he had tackled Gavin anyway, and had farted in his eye. That wouldn’t be good for him, later, he was sure.

Jack had just looked disappointed, until Gavin, a little guilty that he could make her that sad, had handed her the flash drive. She had hugged him, then.

Gavin didn’t know what was so important about her files. All she had was a couple of pictures of them, and a couple of pictures of her, standing in front of some building with the name “Twist” running over the door. Everything else had just been paperwork about funds and accounting. Things that Gavin had had no interest with.

Ryan had calmed down a little, after that, and asked where his own flashdrive was. Gavin had, sheepishly, admitted that he hadn’t thought to make one for Ryan.

Ray and Geoff then had to hold Ryan back from punching Gavin in the face. But then Ray had decided to ask Ryan the question that Gavin had been dreading, since he found out exactly what was on those files.

“Hey, Ry? What computer did you have the files on Diddles?” The case that Ray and Ryan had been working on for years. The one that they had recently reached an impasse in, but were both still doing their best to solve.

“Guess.”

**Ray let go of Ryan, and Gavin ran away, screaming.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, here’s the deal. Got some major changes:
> 
> Good news- This fic thing? Gonna be based mainly off of icoffeecake, but some ideas are going to come from a new source, which is basically every bit of GTA I can get. I think it’ll be more fun that way. I’ll find a way to adapt stuff into the story, which is always the most fun! So, yeah, this should be good! 
> 
> Bad news- Updates are going to be slower, because of personal issues, and it honestly won’t get better until April, probably. I’ll still be writing in school and on weekends, so there should still be content, but I won’t be getting home until 8 PM everyday, so there’s no time to write, otherwise. This chapter took about twelve hours to write (bc I'm slow af) and it's pretty short, so let that serve as a measure.
> 
> Anyway, hope you guys enjoyed!


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